


Travel

by apparitionism



Series: Travel [1]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Finance AU, and who thought that was ever going to be a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 66,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2512607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apparitionism/pseuds/apparitionism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to an AU that features nonstop action! A breathtaking love story! Snappy dialogue! Sidesplitting laughs! (Some of that description is not entirely accurate!) In any case, it’s a romantic comedy of sorts; H.G. of course loathes Myka to begin with, a state of affairs which by rom-com logic has an obvious corollary... and of course complications ensue... we’ll rate it mature, because while the adult characters do act like children some of the time, they also occasionally act like adults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Helena thanks the good lord that just as the rain starts to fall, a cabbie sees her raised hand and stops. He’s on the other side of the street from her hotel, and she has to duck her head and dash, carry-all over her shoulder and computer bag in her hand, but still…. he stopped, and she’s in a hurry, and she should just be grateful.

And that is what she thinks until she slides into the back seat, only to find that someone else has slid in from the other side. “I beg your pardon,” Helena starts to say, but—

—the other passenger, a woman armed with duffle bag and briefcase, is saying with complete exasperation into her telephone, “No, I don’t _care_ about compliance! Well, I care about compliance, but they know perfectly well that I—no, Claudia, it isn’t your fault, it’s _their_ fault. Tell them to look back to last week, and they’ll see—”

“Where to?” asks the driver, a large man in an impossibly bright purple sweatshirt.

“LaGuardia,” say Helena and the other woman, in unison.

The driver obediently pulls away from the curb, and Helena looks questioningly at her accidental companion.

Said companion, a woman with dark curly hair that really should probably be secured by some clip or other, mouths at Helena, “Okay to share?” and Helena nods. The woman refocuses on her call, saying, “If they look at yesterday morning’s notes, they will see that everything is fine and nothing needs to be broken, okay? Just tell them—”

And then the taxi’s “entertainment” system starts up, and Helena says even more fervent thanks that she is going home today and will not be assaulted by the mayor of this city, or its newspeople, explaining its glories (and upcoming weather) to her any longer. She reaches out for the part of the touchscreen that will _make it stop_ … but that part is not working in this cab. She tries to turn down the sound, but it too is fixed, as if some last bit of torture is required before New York will loose its hold. “I’m sorry,” she says softly to the woman beside her, who exhales loudly and leans forward to try it herself. This annoys Helena considerably—as if she cannot effectively push with a finger at areas on a screen?—and she is perversely satisfied when _she_ meets with no success either. Helena is now _happy_ to listen to local news reports all the way to the airport, _happy_ to hear that New York will be experiencing more humidity than normal, _happy_ in fact to find out that some local sports team or other will not be making the playoffs for the first time in several years.

She is also finding out, via the woman’s intrusive conversation, that some company’s compliance department is peopled with imbeciles who would not know what day of the week it was even if they had counted by sevens from the day they were born. (Helena does file this insult away for future use. No need to look a gift horse in the overloud mouth.) She finds out that Claudia should eat more leafy greens and that the woman herself has been tasked with ensuring that Pete is on time for the ideas meeting the following morning.

Helena supposes she could call someone herself… but that would make three sources of noise in the back seat, and there are already two too many. She supposes that she could sternly request that the woman disconnect her telephone, but there actually do seem to be matters she needs to attend to, and Helena knows that if she were facing some urgency, she would look unkindly on anyone who tried to stop her… so she leans her head back and tries to think on other things.

They both tell the cab driver the same airline when they reach LaGuardia, so they are let out at the same curb. The woman has just hung up her telephone as they exit the car, and she says to Helena, “I’m sorry; that’s not how I usually am. Today’s just been… and tomorrow’s going to be…”

“It’s fine,” Helena says, and she almost means it. “I’ve certainly experienced worse cab rides.”

The woman smiles. She has a wide smile. “Okay.” She sets her duffle down and reaches into her briefcase. “Here’s my card. I’ll buy you a drink to make up for it if you’re ever in L.A.” Then she disappears, striding on impossibly long legs into the terminal.

Helena is nonplussed. “L.A.?” she says aloud. They are, she imagines, about to find themselves on the same airplane.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

“Myka Bering” is the name on the card. And “Bering,” Helena sees when she reaches the gate, is the name just ahead of her own on the first-class upgrade list for the flight that will take them to Chicago, the first leg of the journey to Los Angeles.

Helena, who has had a sufficiently trying day already and would like to enjoy at least this two hours in comfort, is developing something resembling a dislike for Myka Bering, despite her apology, despite her long legs, despite her wide smile. For Myka Bering, financial adviser, that is, bearer of every alphabetic qualification that can follow a financial professional’s name, at least one who is employed by Warehouse Finance, Los Angeles, California.

Perhaps they’ll both be upgraded. Helena decides to hope for the best.

The best, of course, does not happen, and Helena looks on with great jealousy as Myka Bering is one of the first to board the plane. When Helena herself boards—much, much later, it seems—she notes that Myka Bering, one of her long legs hazardously close to extending into the aisle, already has a drink on her tray table, and she is tapping away on a tablet. She doesn’t look up at any of the plebeians boarding now, and Helena is half tempted to “trip” over that perilous leg, just out of… spite? Something like that, at any rate, just to see the look on her face.

Helena sighs and bypasses her tormentor.

She calls Charles to check on him and Christina. He assures her that they’re both fine, and Christina insists from the background that she is far too busy with her latest experiment to possibly come to the phone. “Take a message!” she shouts to her uncle.

“Any message for the head of the lab?” Charles asks.

“The cheek had best be cancelled by the time I arrive home,” Helena says.

“I’ll inform her,” says Charles, “but experience suggests…”

Next, Helena calls her office. More accurately, she calls Caturanga, the head of the firm. “Good news!” he trumpets. He is inclined to trumpet. “Tomorrow morning!”

“What happens tomorrow morning?”

“You and Mr. Jinks will begin the consultation with the financial firm!”

Right. Yes. Helena remembers, vaguely, that this was a possibility, but… “Wasn’t that supposed to happen weeks from now? If at all?”

“Once this organization makes a decision, they do not dilly-dally,” he says. “And we were moved up the priority list, for doubtless flattering reasons that I will be sure to ascertain.”

“You’re giving me very little time to get up to speed. On the industry as a whole, on the company in particular… I don’t even know the company!” It’s almost a shame, she thinks now, that Myka Bering had been so preoccupied in the cab; she could have at least got some initial talking points to use tomorrow afternoon as she found out more about the place. Perhaps the layover in Chicago… no, it’s quite short, and also, she is still cross with Myka Bering. “And so what is the company?” she asks, as Caturanga has clearly been distracted by something pinging on a device.

“Oh, yes,” he says. “You can conduct research while you are in flight! How wonderful the world is now!”

“Delightful,” Helena says. For certainly delight is what one would experience, when faced with a long flight of reading about the financial industry. “Name, please.”

“Caturanga,” he teases.

She wonders if she attracts this kind of attitude… “Do you want me to be at all prepared?”

“Well, your improvisation skills are quite fine, my dear. But no, I see no real need to be coy; it is that behemoth: Warehouse Financial. Have a wonderful flight!”

And so for the greater part of the duration of the first flight, Helena reads about the industry and company in which Myka Bering, annexer of cabs and stealer of first-class seats, most likely makes far too much money. And she does not know how to feel, now, about the shortness of the layover in Chicago.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

In Chicago, by the time Helena makes her way forward through the plane, Myka Bering is long gone. It seems quite unfair to Helena that the long-legged Ms. Bering, FA, CFP, CFA, CPA and god knows what else, should be the one to get the head start on what is going to have to be a very brisk walk to their next flight.

The gate is two concourses away. The neon “artwork” illuminates above her on the moving walkway, her shoulder aches from the weight of her bag, and all Helena really wants at this point is to be home, reading with (no longer _to_ ) Christina some bedtime story or other—although these days it is generally more of a bedtime chapter. Helena is still grateful for the ritual, however, for Christina seems not to slow down, even to breathe, at any other time of day.

She makes good time through the terminal spaces, and her gate is blessedly close to the concourse’s entrance. She is directing her gaze at the gate’s monitor—the flight is not boarding quite yet—when she hears, from beside and slightly above her, “You really don’t have to stalk me to L.A. to get that drink.”

“I am not stalking you,” Helena says. Is her irritation showing? “I am trying to get home.”

“To L.A.? I thought I was the only crazy person who flies LGA to LAX,” Myka Bering says.

“I prefer it—yet changing planes is unfortunate,” Helena allows. But then, as the monitor screen refreshes, she notices that this time, “Bering” is _two_ places ahead of her on the upgrade list. And she hears, from the gate agent, “Passenger Myka Bering, please come to the podium for your new boarding pass.”

“Hey, lucky me,” says the woman who apparently never sits in the rear of an airplane. She turns and strides to the desk with that… _stride_. In that instant, Helena loathes her. To be fair, she also in this instant loathes airplanes, Caturanga, her job, and herself, and she is wondering why exactly it is she does prefer one New York airport over any other.

She is also wondering why the universe seems to have such an interest in foisting Myka Bering on her, in the most annoying way possible. And whether tomorrow morning is likely to be more of the same.

****

At what seems to be an impossibly early hour, Helena drags herself into Caturanga’s office to speak with him and Steve about their plans for Warehouse Finance, or, as Caturanga insists on calling it, Warehouse Financial. “Financial what?” Helena asks him.

“It is a financial _concern_ ,” he says.

“It is not the correct _name_ ,” Helena tells him.

“You are being pedantic.”

“It is on their cards.”

“Could we talk about the work?” Steve pleads.

“Ah! The work will be extraordinary! We are a de facto pilot program!”

“Lovely,” Helena grouses.

Caturanga twinkles a smile at her, then continues, “You know from the dossier I sent you, and doubtless from your own research, that they are quite the dominant financial concern—yet only in certain locations. As they have such a limited presence in the West of this large nation, they feel that they can assay new approaches here. They wish to start with this small situation.” Helena doubts that Myka Bering is the type who would be pleased to hear her situation referred to as “small.” Caturanga asks, “And you are both up to speed?”

“Pretty much,” Steve says, “though I would’ve liked more than a day to get things together. We’ll just have to feel our way for the first little while, won’t we, H.G.?”

“Yes. Right.”

“Are you even awake at this point?” Steve chuckles.

“It is six-thirty in the morning,” Helena says.

“You’re on east coast time!”

“Yes, forty-eight hours in another time zone leads to complete acclimation.”

“Children, children,” Caturanga says. “We can agree that you are getting an early start. Also, you are to begin your consulting tenure with the Financials at what they call their ‘ideas meeting’ at eight o’clock. Get thee to the financial district!”

****

Steve is to take the lead; it is his turn anyway, and as Helena would rather not be doing this job in the first place, better to sit back a bit. She was too tired last night to formulate a plan for dealing with Myka Bering this morning; she had hoped that she might not even see her, but this “ideas meeting” is most likely the one discussed (much discussed) in the cab yesterday.

They are shown by a receptionist into an opulent conference room. It is empty of people, so they both stand and stare at the table, reluctant to sit; some firms have strict protocols about who and where and why…

“You _are_ stalking me!” Helena hears from the doorway behind her. “When I gave you my card, I didn’t expect you to—”

Helena turns around. “I am not _stalking_ you,” she tells Myka Bering. She is trying not to concede that appearances _might_ suggest the contrary.

Steve says, “Stalking? No, I’m Steve Jinks, this is H.G. Wells, and we’re from Chessboard, the consulting company. Piloting some new approaches? Process, data, marketing? We’re here to sit in on your meeting this morning, and then we’ll go on from there.”

“Oh,” Myka Bering says. Then to Helena, “Were you trying to, I don’t know, do some kind of weird covert observation yesterday? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t _know_ yesterday.” Again, she is trying to concede _appearances_ … but she is once again irritated. “And I certainly didn’t have time to say much of anything, what with your hasty exit from any potential conversation.”

“So you don’t know anything about what you’re doing, the day before you do it? That seems like bad planning.”

“In retrospect, so does my letting you share my cab yesterday.”

“ _Your_ cab?”

Steve says, a bit desperately, “Hey, who else is coming to this meeting?”

Myka Bering looks like she wants to toss another remark at Helena, but she says, “I’ll get them. And… sorry.” But she directs this at Steve.

When he and Helena are alone again, he says, “You _know_ her? What is going on?”

“Nothing is _going on_ ,” Helena says. “She flies first class; I fly economy. That is all that has _gone on_.”

“It looks like something’s going on. It looks like you know her, she knows you, and you hate each other.”

“No one hates anyone,” Helena lies.

“So then you’re stalking her because you like her?”

Helena does not dignify that with a response.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A short, somewhat fuzzy man enters the conference room first. “Artie Nielsen,” he introduces himself. “Branch manager. Sorry I wasn’t here to meet you. Crazy morning.”

“It’s quite early,” Helena agrees.

He gives her a look that she can’t read and seems about to respond, but he is interrupted by the arrival of two others. “Liam Napier and Abigail Cho,” he says, “and you can probably tell which is which.”

Steve says, “I wouldn’t want to make assumptions,” and Helena—who has made precisely the assumptions Artie most likely expected them to—is chagrined. Steve always has had better instincts than she... and he is rewarded for them, as the one she had assumed to be Liam smiles in a way clearly intended just for him. Steve smiles back.

An older woman of imposing presence walks in, saying in a foghorn voice of command, “This had better be short.” She sees Helena and Steve. “Sorry. I didn’t know we were having company.”

Artie says, “They’re the consultants. Because apparently we aren’t doing enough business.”

“We’d all do more business if we had fewer meetings. See? Now we don’t need consultants.” She looks over half-frame glasses at Helena and Steve. “Wouldn’t you rather have the day off?”

“God, yes,” Helena says, almost involuntarily. “Sorry.”

“If I didn’t have commission goals to meet, I’d certainly take the day off. I’m Jane Lattimer, by the way, and my son Pete and I work together.”

Pete, Helena thinks. Ah. The one whose attendance was in some question, in the cab. The one whose attendance was guaranteed by Myka Bering.

And indeed, a moment later, the woman herself appears, dragging by the elbow a tall fellow who is complaining, “But why do I have to?”

“Because you need ideas,” she tells him.

“Oh, I got _ideas_ , Mykes.” He performs a caricature of a leer. “If you know what I mean.”

Artie says, “I know what I _hope_ you mean. What’s going to make your clients money, you oaf? What’s big?”

Pete shakes his head. “Not even gonna touch that one, boss.”

Abigail says, “On behalf of all women, I thank you.”

“Answer the real question!” Artie says.

“Winnebagos,” Pete tells him.

“Answer it seriously!”

“I _am_ answering it seriously. Winnebago’s profits were up thirty-three percent last year over the previous. Baby boomers retiring, goin’ on the _road_. Plus it’s cheaper than a house—baby boomers retiring, havin’ no _money_.” He drops into a chair at the table, puts his head down, and pretends to snore.

Myka Bering sits down next to him, smacks the top of his head, then leans and whispers something in his ear. Helena can’t quite read this either. They might be together…

“If you actually do like her, I think you’re S.O.L.,” Steve murmurs to Helena.

“Fortunately for us all, I don’t, so I am not,” Helena whispers back.

As the meeting proceeds, they learn that Abigail and Liam are business partners, just as Jane her son are, and that Myka and Artie act as each other’s backup but maintain separate books of clients. They learn that Winnebago itself may not be the play, but rather those businesses that support Winnebagos and their enthusiastic owners. They learn several things about several fast-growing companies, including, for example, that the market for individual-serving brewed beverages is “literally infinite,” as Pete says, and Myka corrects him, “It isn’t _literally_ infinite.”

“Well, people literally love those little k-cups to death.”

“They don’t _literally_ love them to death. You can’t literally love anything to death.”

“Hey guess what, I’ve figured out why my ideas are always better than yours.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“I’m _normal_.”

Helena is seated next to Abigail, who leans to her and says, “They are like this _literally_ all the time.”

At this, Helena can’t hold back a bit of a chuckle. Myka turns to look at her. “Sorry,” Helena says. “I’m a bit tired. Long day yesterday. As you know.”

Myka shrugs. “I slept on the plane.”

Helena has never in her life so wanted to slap another human being.

After the meeting, the advisors disappear into their offices, and Artie introduces Helena to his and Myka’s assistant, Claudia, before sitting down with Steve to talk about overall logistics and administrative issues.

Claudia looks to be cultivating a field of post-it notes on her desk and monitor. “Hey, so,” she says, as she scribbles “Steve (cutie!) also HG (hair!)” on one and places it, seemingly randomly, on an already-covered space beside her telephone, “what are you, like, actually doing here? Are you gonna shut us down or something?”

“I can’t imagine so. Your company simply wants to experiment.”

The young woman stands and leans close, as if to speak to Helena in confidence. She exaggeratedly cups her hand around her mouth and fake-whispers, “If I were you, I’d leave Artie and Myka alone then. Experiment on Abigail and Liam. Or Pete. Maybe not his mom, because if you do something she doesn’t like? She will mess you up. I mean, like, ‘she runs the _prison_ ’ kind of mess you up.” She begins to gesture gang signals that Helena hopes are invented.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Helena says; then, after an internal sigh, “and why should I leave Myka alone?”

“She really, seriously does not like people telling her what to do. She used to have her own firm till the Warehouse recruited her, and even here, she basically does her own thing. I mean, she follows every rule to the letter, and she gets pissed off when other people don’t—FYI, that’s mostly Pete—but she’s got really clear rules for herself about what she will and won’t do, and how she’s going to make her money. Which is to say she’s a control freak. Get in the way of that, and H.G.—I can call you H.G., right?—you will be sorry.”

“We’ll see,” Helena says. In fact, she is _already_ sorry. However, no control freak, regardless of the length of her legs, is going to keep Helena from doing her job in this establishment. She is resolving, however, to do that job as quickly as possible, leaving Myka Bering to her annoying boyfriend or husband or whatever he happens to be. “Nevertheless, I’ll need to speak with her, as I will with everyone. Do you keep her schedule?”

“Hoo boy,” Claudia says. “The schedule. Yeah. The answer is no, I don’t keep her schedule. Her brain keeps her schedule. She just tells me the blocks of time to X out so I can tell people when she’ll be back. So if you want to get _on_ the schedule? Be my guest and head on in, experimenting lady. Just tell her to toss your bones out when she’s done with you, okay?”

“How can she possibly be successful if she treats others in the way you suggest? Surely her clients would bolt.”

“If you were a client? Or a prospect? Totally different. _They’re_ not trying to play chemistry lab with her business like you are. She works her ass off for those people, has events for ’em, remembers their kids’ birthdays… trust me, plenty of people _wish_ they were Myka Bering’s clients.” Claudia’s telephone rings, and when she answers, she transforms into a smooth professional in a way that Helena might not have believed possible had she not witnessed it. “Warehouse Finance, Claudia speaking. How may I help you today? Oh, Mr. Nielsen? One moment please, he’s in a meeting.” She punches the hold button, then gestures at Myka’s office door, which is across the hall. “Go for it! Break a leg!”

“Mine or hers?” Helena asks.

Claudia grins and shrugs. “Up to you. Just make sure you get video!”

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

But when Helena taps on Myka Bering’s office door, the woman has no time for her; she is on the telephone, and she waves Helena off. She is again on the telephone when Helena returns after speaking with Liam (Helena entertains a brief fantasy of simply walking into the office, grabbing the receiver, and disconnecting the call, after which… well, after which she would have to _talk_ to Myka Bering, so perhaps it is not in the end a particularly fulfilling fantasy), and when Helena once again comes back, this time after lunch, absolutely determined, Claudia informs her that Myka has left for the day.

Helena says to Claudia, “I believe you have led me astray.”

“Who, me?”

“And I believe you have done so intentionally.”

“No, H.G., no. I didn’t, and I wouldn’t. I told you she does her own thing. But she’ll be in tomorrow, bright and early, I swear. You’ve just gotta catch her at the right time.”

Now Helena sighs. “Perhaps I should pretend to be a prospect,” she says.

“I think Myka’s probably not going to fall for that at this point. I guess you could call her and use a fake accent, though. Can you do an American one?”

“Poorly.”

Claudia grabs the post-it that identifies Steve as a cutie and Helena as hair and writes “bad accent!” underneath “hair!”. Helena notices, and remarks on the fact, that the note had migrated to the edge of Claudia’s monitor from its earlier location.

“It’s post-it tectonics,” Claudia says.

“I believe you and my daughter would get along,” Helena tells her.

Claudia  scribbles “daughter!” underneath “bad accent!”

“She’s nine years old,” Helena says, just to see what Claudia will do.

More scribbling.

“And she enjoys science of all sorts. Not to mention American football, though her uncle and I keep trying to convince her otherwise.”

Claudia is running out of space on the post-it.

Helena asks, “Have you considered a notebook?”

“Where’s the tectonics in that?” Claudia asks back.

Helena decides that she likes Claudia. And though she is coming to find the post-it sea somewhat appealing, even soothing in its vastness, she can’t resist asking, “What do your supervisors think of your approach?”

“Artie says I’m toast if they ever creep down to the chair mat. And you know, it’s funny, but Myka once asked me about a notebook too.”

“I take it back,” Helena says quickly.

****

When Helena finally arrives home, after far too long on the 405, Charles and Christina are in the kitchen arguing about dinner-plate sizes. Steve is there too, and he is sitting on the countertop, drinking beer. “Hey,” he says to Helena.

“Hey, Mom,” Christina says, and then, to her uncle, “I told you, I read about a study and I want to try to replicate it! If we use smaller plates, we’ll eat less!”

“We don’t need to eat less,” Charles tells her. “You are a growing girl, and you need proper nutrition and—oh, hello, Helena. Not to mention, if you’ve told us you expect us to eat less, you’ve biased the results!”

Christina groans. “I always mess that part up…”

Helena asks Steve, “How did you get here so quickly? Even if you didn’t stop at your house—”

“Pete’s mom was busy, so I went back to Chessboard for a while, then came on over. Caturanga’s in some big cutthroat negotiation with a tech startup, by the way. He’s got that weird focused look.” Steve takes a drink. “So how’d your talk with your buddy go?”

“She is not my buddy. And she had no moment free—or at least, none that she was willing to free _up_ , and certainly not for me. Now I really do feel as if I am stalking her. Why is she so difficult?”

“Beats me,” Steve says. “Artie was pretty nice. A little bit of a Neanderthal, but ultimately probably okay.”

“I would have thought that true of Pete.”

“Nah, he’s mostly just… bouncy. Couldn’t find anything out about whether he and your girlfriend are together, though. I thought it’d be tacky to just ask.”

“She is not my girlfriend.”

“Okay, fine. Your nemesis.”

“Better,” Helena says.

Christina says, “I think having a nemesis makes you a superhero, Mom.”

“If only I were an actual superhero, and I could make everyone do my bidding…”

“I think you’re confusing superheroes and supervillains,” Christina tells her. “Anyway, you need a costume. If you’re going to fight this nemesis.”

Steve tilts his head. “I can’t see you in one of those Wonder Woman getups. Something more like Green Arrow, maybe.”

Helena says. “You honestly see me dressed as a postmodern Robin Hood. Isn’t there some woman with a crossbow?”

Christina hops up on the counter next to Steve. “I know!” she shouts. “I’ll invent you something like Iron Man.”

With Christina out of the way, Charles starts removing regular-sized plates from a cabinet. “Well, it’ll keep you occupied, at any rate, and we won’t have to hear about experiments designed to make us lose weight.”

Steve laughs. “It was so much easier when she was little and all she ever wanted to do was play Candyland.”

“Dad Steve,” Christina addresses him very seriously. “There is no _future_ in playing Candyland.”

“The child has a point,” Charles says. He is ferrying the plates to the table.

“Uncle Charles. Please don’t call me a child. If you do, I’ll start calling you my nanny again.”

“You know perfectly well I am not your nanny,” Charles tells her. “I am a freelance writer who happens to live in a home with a nine-year-old who has not yet been shipped to boarding school for reasons that quite frankly _elude_ me.”

“I would blow it up,” Christina says. “You said so, Nanny Charles.”

Helena sighs. “And you were doing so _well_ up to a certain point. You actually said ‘please.’ I thought, the hour has arrived: the child is at long last polite. But no…”

“Mom, please don’t call me a child. Or I’ll start calling _you_ Green Arrow. Or no: Pink Arrow would bug you so much more… you can carry pink arrows in your quiver, too!”

Steve says, “Wouldn’t Rainbow Arrow be more appropriate?”

“That’s you, Dad Steve.”

Charles complains, “Why does everyone but me get to be an Arrow of some sort?”

“They don’t let nannies carry weapons,” Christina explains.

“I don’t need weapons! I am a black belt in Christina-wrangling!” Charles shouts. He pretends to lunge at her, and she laughs and twists toward Steve, who in turn pretends to juggle his beer, making Christina laugh all the harder…

…and this scene, and the ones that will follow it, are Helena’s reward for her hellish time on the 405. She is fairly certain there will be no such reward, after the time she spends on it in the morning, waiting for her at Warehouse Finance.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Helena presents herself at Claudia’s desk at eight in the morning. Claudia looks at her and sighs sadly.

“Bright and early!” Helena protests.

“H.G., I think you may be misunderstanding—” Myka Bering walks out of her office and drops onto Claudia’s lap a clipped stack of paper that features several stuck-on flags. She nods briefly at Helena as Claudia flips through the pages, asking, “And you’re sure you marked everything this time?”

Myka rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“You were sure last time too, but _I’m_ pretty sure this is round two. Hey, can we pad this with some fake pages? Maybe it’ll make the flags stand out more, so he’ll actuallly sign them all this time.”

“I’m pretty sure the SEC takes a dim view of phony documents,” Myka tells her, and she turns to go back to her office.

That one nod was her only acknowledgement of Helena’s existence. Helena wants to grab the packet of papers from Claudia and _throw_ it at her—that might get her attention—but she forces a polite note into her voice as she says, “Do you have a moment now?”

To Helena’s surprise, Myka turns around. “Not really,” she says. “Look, Claudia said that she told you bright and early. I can’t help it if you don’t understand what that means.”

“In what way have I failed to understand what that means?”

“Markets, H.G.!” Claudia mutters. “Markets!”

“Markets _what_?” She is imagining the look on Caturanga’s face when she marches into his office later today and threatens to quit if she is not removed from this project at once…

Claudia says, with a helpless air, “When they _open_ , H.G. I thought you knew.”

And Helena is in high dudgeon as she responds, “Of course I know. The stock market opens at nine-thirty… oh.”

Myka has the gall to look amused. “Yeah, oh.”

“Oh _something_ , anyway,” Claudia says.

Myka says, as if Helena is a child, “We are on the West Coast. Stock market at six-thirty, and the CDs come in at six. I get here between five-fifteen and five-thirty, so excuse me if you waltzing in now doesn’t seem exactly bright. Or early.”

It’s Helena’s turn to mutter. “I didn’t realize I was _waltzing_.”

Claudia says, “Hey, but I bet you know how to waltz, don’t you, H.G.? That’s classy! It seems like something you could do.”

“Poorly,” Helena admits.

Claudia closes her eyes and reaches toward some spot on her desk. “Just like your American accent!” She opens her eyes. “Ha! I knew that’s where it’d be! But man, I need bigger post-its. Oooh, I need those huge post-it pads you use with easels!”

Helena is surprised to hear Myka respond with something like affection. “You would block out the _sun_ ,” she says. “And then where would my alternative energy stocks be?”

“Wind would still blow,” Claudia informs her loftily. “Well, probably. I don’t know much about the weather. I’m pretty sure rivers would keep moving. Also, hey, and without _quite_ so much sun, Phoenix real estate might finally make that comeback you keep hoping for.”

Helena tries one more time: “Ms. Bering, please.”

Myka looks to Claudia. Claudia says, “She’ll just keep stalking you till you say yes.”

Helena says to Claudia, “Thank you so much for that kind characterization.”

“Don’t get mad at _me_ ,” Claudia tells her. “You’re the one who biffed the time-zone situation… and I bet your football-fan daughter knows what ‘rookie mistake’ means…”

Helena notices that this garners a small smile from Myka Bering, who sighs, “Well, come on. Let’s get this over with.”

“You could have informed her that talking to me is not the equivalent of a _root canal_ ,” Helena whispers to Claudia.

Claudia obediently raises her voice and says, “It’s gonna feel better than a root canal, Myka!” and then to Helena, “That sounded kinda dirty, didn’t it… I guess it gives you something to live up to. Though not much, so don’t sweat the technique.”

And Helena once again pictures Caturanga—this time as she is slapping her resignation letter onto his desk.

****

“So Claudia seems to like you,” Myka says, when they are facing each other across her desk.

Helena says, “I feel fortunate in that. Otherwise you would still be making excuses not to speak with me, would you not?”

“I’m sorry, but I just think I have better things to do.”

Helena does not know what to do with this. She has encountered reluctant businesspeople but… “What is your objection to the possibility of improving your business?”

“I’m uncomfortable with change,” Myka says. She really does look oddly itchy, as if she would like to squirm away.

“You deal with the _stock market_ ,” Helena points out.

“I’ve _factored that in_ already.”

“And any changes that Chessboard might suggest are not pre-factored,” Helena guesses.

“Right,” Myka says. She sounds almost relieved, as if some heaviness represented by Helena’s lack of understanding has been lifted.

Helena sighs. “For example, social media. You are not active.”

She completely expects some version of Myka’s response, which is: “I don’t think that would really help my book.”

“We’ll set your own situation to the side for a moment so that you _stop getting so defensive_. I meant, none of you are active. Liam spoke disparagingly of Warehouse’s Compliance Department?”

And at this, Myka herself sighs, with more emotion than Helena has seen thus far. “Good luck getting _anything_ through Compliance. I know you checked Liam and Abigail’s tweets.”

“Very dry,” Helena remarks. “And not in the witty sense. And so do you see? Some kind of relaxation of policy with regard to social media: this is something we can present as part of our recommended strategy.”

Myka says, “Yeah, again, it isn’t going to help me. At least not right now, and it’ll be something else by the time it matters.”

Helena asks—and she’s really asking—“Why won’t it help you?”

“My book is old. And those who aren’t old are pretty conservative.”

“Yet they are willing to take financial advice from a woman.”

Myka coughs out a small laugh. “I’m not sure they think of me that way.”

Helena, without thinking, says, “How could they not?” And she means, given your legs, and your hair, and… and she realizes what she has said, and what she has meant, and she thinks that she would be happy to die right here, on this spot, because the very last thing she is actually thinking, or would actually ever want to think, is that Myka is a woman who cannot be thought of any other way, and that she has these long legs, and this uncontrolled hair, and the idea that Helena cannot simply shake her head to rid it of such thoughts is unconscionable…

Fortunately, Myka seems to have missed all her meanings, for she is sighing again and saying, “I just really don’t think I can help you, and I don’t think you can help me, so we shouldn’t waste each other’s time.”

Helena says, both gratefully and ruefully, “Time being money.”

“Time _is_ money. They’re the same thing.”

“They are not the _same_ thing,” Helena protests.

Myka tilts her head. Smiles, just the tiniest bit. “Are you _sure_ you’re the right person to be consulting with a financial firm?”

This frustrates Helena. “Do you know how many finance-related data points Twitter—just as an example!—generates every day? Every hour?”

“Okay. I’m going to make a call to a client now. You’ve signed all the nondisclosure paperwork, right?”

Helena says, “Of course.”

“Okay. Listen closely.” She turns her attention to the telephone. “Hi, Mildred. You remember we talked about putting some of your money to work?  Okay, so I’ve got some CDs… they’re FDIC insured, so you’ve got that safety you want… it’s not too much money, and it goes out ten years, pays 2 percent… well, if you hold it for the full ten years, you get all your money back… No, if you want a higher return, we could look at utility stocks—okay, yes, I remember, you said stocks are too risky. Okay. So we’ll go with the CDs? Okay. Yes, your money’s totally safe.”  She hangs up. “Mildred is seventy years old. Now tell me how Twitter is going to help me with that.”

Helena wants to strangle her, possibly using her uncontrolled hair. “You’re so right. You will never need new clients who are younger than this. No one who is your client will ever use social media, and you yourself can gain no insights there. So sorry to have wasted your time. Because Twitter is all I know anything about; I was not simply using it as an example of avenues your company has neglected.”

Myka asks, mildly, “Is there some personal reason you’re angry with me?”

Helena controls herself enough to ask back, “Is there some personal reason you were avoiding me?”

“No,” Myka says.

“Then no,” Helena says.

“Then fine,” Myka tells her.

Helena can’t measure that, so, “Fine,” she says. She stands and stalks out. Whereupon she runs smack into Claudia. “Were you eavesdropping?” she asks.

“No,” Claudia says.

Helena resists the urge to issue some penalty, as she does when Christina fibs. “Why does everyone at this firm say ‘no’ when ‘yes’ is the more true answer?”

“To mess with you. You personally. For _personal reasons_.”

Helena says, “I think I might have to give up. Or in. Or whatever one does around here to signify that others have won.”

Claudia enthuses, “Awesome. I’ll tell Myka, and if we’re lucky she’ll do the dance of victory.”

“I will do something terrible to your post-it notes if you if you tell her any such thing,” Helena says. She hopes Claudia understands that she means it.

Claudia laughs. She scribbles on a new post-it and hands it to Helena. The note says, “You are doing OK. PS Come in at 5AM tomorrow. M will be impressed.”

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

For the next several workdays, Helena obeys Claudia’s instruction. She is meticulous in arriving at the Warehouse office by five in the morning. Further, she maps out her movements so that when Myka arrives, her industriousness is visible: talking with Claudia about some point of office protocol, or tapping with purpose on her laptop, or walking into a conference room for a meeting with Abigail or Liam or Pete. (Pete _is_ bouncy, a quality that is as helpful for wakefulness in the early morning hours as it is annoying the rest of the day.) Myka, however, has done little more than glance at Helena in all these days. Whenever Helena begins to feel a bit of resentment at the lack of acknowledgement, she tries to remind herself that all that happened was that she received advice from Claudia and is acting on it accordingly. There is no need to be rewarded for that. As if some no doubt grudging words of approval from Myka Bering would constitute a real _reward_ in any case.

One morning the following week, she and Charles are in their kitchen just before four AM, drinking coffee: Helena because she has to leave soon, Charles because Helena cannot seem to keep quiet enough to refrain from disturbing her brother, who is as notoriously light a sleeper as she herself is. Christina of course requires a brass band and acrobatic troupe to rouse her and pull her from her bed, and this above all else makes it clear that she has received a portion of her DNA from Steve. Helena remembers, with great nostalgia, the many occasions on which she would find him nearly comatose in the computer lab at Stanford, snoring a tiny, oddly soothing snore.

His peace, both sleeping and waking, had been a major factor in Helena’s decision to ask him to help her become a mother. “Won’t that pretty much make me a father, though?” he had asked.

“Only if you want to be one,” she assured him. “I just… we get on so well… and I have great respect for you.” And she did, despite the fact that she was older than he, and more advanced in her studies. He had been her student, even, for a semester, when he was an undergraduate and she was beginning her PhD program. Now Helena was almost finished with that PhD, and Steve was well on his way to his.

He had smiled at her. “Respect’s important… so’s money, I guess, but once Professor Caturanga gets the consulting company off the ground, I think we’ll both be pretty financially stable, right? So I think… I think I would like to be a dad. If you think we can keep getting along. For the sake of the kid, I mean.”

“It bodes well that we aren’t romantically involved—particularly since neither of us seems to be able to maintain that kind of relationship.”

“I just haven’t met the right guy yet,” Steve had assured her. “I’ll know it when I do. You’ll probably know when you meet the right woman, too.”

But neither of them has yet met the right person, not in the almost ten years since that conversation. Or if they have, they have not known it. They have both always been self-aware enough to understand that they habitually use Christina as an excuse: “I have a daughter,” Helena has said to more than one woman; Steve has been exceptionally forthright with men about his life involving a “kid situation.”

Steve has said more than once that _if only_ Charles were gay and they liked each other, it would make everything so easy—but, he always adds, Charles would have to shave his crazy 1970s moustache. Charles insists that women love his moustache, so he could never, never, never. After one such claim, Christina proposed that an experiment be conducted—“shave and see how many dates you get _then_ , Uncle Charles”—and she had concluded, in a written lab report delivered to her mother for approval, that his look of complete horror at the idea of being moustacheless meant that attractiveness to women, or to anybody, didn’t have much to do with it at all.

Now, Charles rubs a hand across that moustache and says, or possibly accuses, “ _Steve_ isn’t going in this early.”

“Steve is not attempting to appease the most impossible woman on the planet.”

“Take care, Chamberlain,” Charles advises. “Appeasement so rarely works in the long term.”

“Thank you, Winnie. Are you recommending that I storm the beaches instead?”

“Blood, toil, tears, and sweat!” Charles assures her.

“That sounds even more exhausting than getting up at three in the morning.”

“You don’t know the half of it, my dear sister—here I am, up at three in the morning, and _then_ I suffer the blood, toil, tears, and sweat involved in seeing Christina off to school.”

He’s right. He’s right, and Helena is aware that she does not express her gratitude to him as often or as clearly as she should. “You are this family’s rock,” she tells him. “We all know it.”

He shakes his head and sips at his coffee. “No rock is ever in this much disarray,” he says, patting at his slightly-too-bushy, slightly-too-wiry hair in a vain attempt to make it lie down.

Helena laughs. It’s true that he is quite disheveled; even the moustache could use a bit of a brush. “However, as you love to point out, you are a freelance writer. As long as you don’t frighten the child, your appearance is solely your own concern.”

At this, Charles snorts. “Frighten that child? I think we are all very clear on who does the frightening around here, and it is most assuredly not I.”

“She can be a monster,” Helena agrees, with affection.

“Yes, well, tradeoffs,” Charles says. “I attempt to keep the little beast at bay, but then again, I live rent-free in Los Angeles. Now, if only I could navigate the freeways with your facility, I would be, as Christina has been saying lately, ‘all set.’”

“They’re far less problematic at this hour of the morning,” Helena says. The ease of the drive downtown has been the one real benefit, so far, of her appeasement campaign… other than Claudia’s continued enthusiasm.

Helena expects, however, that the real proof of concept will occur in this morning’s ideas meeting. She and Steve will attend once again, as will all the advisors: thus Helena and Myka will be in the same room, and Helena has made sure to devise questions, and even some ideas, of her own. Myka can hardly refrain from speaking to Helena if addressed directly under those circumstances.

She is disappointed when, seconds after she steps into the Warehouse suite, Artie pulls her into his office to talk about data analysis. She misses Myka’s customary arrival time and catches no glimpse of her all morning—so by the appointed time of the meeting, she is a bit on edge. She tells herself she is being ridiculous… but every time she tries to calm herself down, she remembers her time-zone realization and its accompanying embarrassment. So this time she is ready. She is prepared. She is _over_ prepared, just as she should be.

But Myka does not come to the meeting.

“Where was Myka? Is she all right?” she asks Pete when it is through, when she has had to waste her questions and her ideas. If Myka and Pete _are_ involved, Helena will at least have accomplished the task of having expressed concern about Myka to her significant other. And perhaps that concern might be passed on.

“Client visits,” he says. “She didn’t tell you? Every few weeks, she goes and sees some of the old folks, you know, who can’t come to the office anymore, or just hate driving into town, or whatever. Long drives for her, sometimes—goes all the way out to San Berdoo for this one sweet old couple, ’cause they gave her their business way back when.”

“Client visits?” Helena asks Claudia, later. “You couldn’t have told me?”

“How was I supposed to know you’d care, H.G.?” Claudia, unsurprisingly, writes “tell H.G. everything!” on a post-it.

“Not everything,” Helena says. “Please, not everything.”

Claudia writes “everything about Myka!” She looks up at Helena expectantly.

Helena sighs. “I suppose.”

“She’ll be back tomorrow,” Claudia says. “Her favorite color’s blue, which she thinks is boring and would change if she could force herself to like lilac or something, and she hates cats and she says she hates sugar, but she eats Twizzlers like they’re the new fad diet. If she has to use one of those ballpoint pens that has a grippy part, she looks like she’s gonna throw up. She’ll drink green tea because it’s good for her, but only if somebody else makes it. And this is important: don’t ever empty her trash can before the end of the day, or you will find your post-its in your own trash can, and—”

“Claudia,” Helena says.

“—and she has a sister named Tracy, who she pretends not to like very much but I think that’s just for sibling show. She’s had one complaint filed against her with FINRA and she didn’t leave the office for two entire days while she was trying to get it dismissed, and you should have _seen_ her hair—”

“Claudia!” Helena tries again. “Not everything _right now_.”

“Okay, but you should know that she was right about the complaint. It turned out to be Pete’s fault anyway, because he answered her phone.”

Helena knows an opportunity when she sees one. “Her home phone, I presume you mean?”

“Why would Pete be at her apartment? _Nobody_ goes to Myka’s apartment. Except me, I had to once, because of this one time she forgot some documents for a client meeting, and it is a _very swanky place_. Pete would knock over everything she owns in ten minutes, five if he’d had a couple Red Bulls.”

“And yet they seem to get along rather well. Rather well,” Helena repeats.

“Not like _that_ ,” Claudia says; she contorts her face and shudders.

Helena is digesting this information. “No ballpoint pens with grips,” she says, simply to say something. “Green tea.”

“I like that you pay attention to the things I tell you,” Claudia remarks with a wide smile.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original tumblr tags: Myka could probably not get a complaint dismissed in two days, because it would probably have to go to arbitration, but that's no fun at all, I would rather picture what Claudia describes, and I bet HG was picturing it too


	8. Chapter 8

Steve says to Helena, “I think I might ask Liam out.”

They are standing on Helena’s front porch. It is after dinner; Steve is about to go to his own house, but he has pulled Helena out here with him because, he said, he needed to ask her a question.

“That wasn’t a question,” she points out.

“The question is, should I wait until the job’s done? You remember what happened with that guy in Texas.”

Helena raises an eyebrow at him. “We were in _Texas_. And you were _mistaken_.”

“I still don’t think I was, though.”

“I still don’t think that’s the point. We were _fired_.”

“So, right, that’s the real question: do you think Liam would try to get us fired?”

“Are you asking if I think you’re mistaken in this instance?”

Steve gives her a tiny grin. “Except for the Texas incident, you can tell better than I can.”

“I can’t _tell_. I make an educated guess.”

“What’s your educated guess about Liam?”

And yet despite the fact that Helena has had more than one pleasant conversation with the young man in question, all that she has noticed about him is that he is _not_ infuriating. Any guess she would make would be… uneducated. She tells Steve so, and ends with an apology for her lack of attention.

“It’s really okay,” Steve says. “I can figure out my own love life if I have to… but it’s kind of weird to have to.”

“Kind of weird,” Helena echoes. “That phrase applies to just about every aspect of this Warehouse situation.”

“Maybe you’re just tired. All these early mornings, all that skulking around to see if your girlfriend is or isn’t in any given space… I’m not sure if your goal is to see her, avoid her, or just tail her like you’re trying to get photos of her in a compromising position.”

“She is not my girlfriend. And I do not skulk.” Although Helena has to admit, if only to herself, that she has been paying attention to where Myka is likely to be, and to not be, and altering her own actions accordingly… because interacting with Myka, even on the most basic level of nodding acknowledgement, is an _effort_. And Helena does not always feel _up to it_. “Although maybe it _is_ because I’m tired. I really can’t see how they keep this schedule.”

Steve smiles. “I’ll use that as my opener with Liam. You should ask Myka… maybe it’d lead to détente.”

“Admit weakness?” Helena snorts. “To that woman? All I am to her already is a… consortium of errors.”

“I don’t think that’s the collective noun for errors. A strikethrough of errors? A red pen?”

“An erasure. A deletion.”

“Don’t be mopey,” Steve tells her. “She’ll come around.”

“I don’t want her to come around. I want her to go away. Far, far away.” Helena knows she is indeed being mopey; she feels that she does not fully remember what it was like to simply get up at a normal hour of the morning and go to work without an extra layer of _concern_. She feels completely turned around by it all: Myka was away for a day visiting clients again, early in the week, and Helena should have felt glad about that, should have felt _relieved_. Instead, she’d told Claudia rather severely that it was unfortunate that Myka was so often unavailable.

Steve hugs her. “You really do sound tired. Keep Christina to a short story tonight, okay? And make the writer-in-residence keep his tap-tapping to a minimum so you can get some real sleep.”

****

The following day, Jane Lattimer asks to speak to Helena after market hours, and Helena knows now to present herself at 1:00 on the dot. “Let’s leave the building,” Jane says immediately.

Helena trails in her wake, past the assistants’ desks, and in particular past Claudia, who leaps up and waves a post-it at her. Helena takes it as she walks by; she reads it in the elevator: “M never ever lies when it counts.” Helena is not sure what to make of this information. She supposes she will add it to the increasingly large collection of Myka-themed post-its she is acquiring from Claudia: “M likes curry better than pizza or tacos,” “M wishes she had a pickup truck but can’t justify it environmentally,” “M thinks biotech stocks still have room to run,” etc. Her favorite so far, simply for reasons of arcana, is “M keeps paper clips & sugar-free gum in 2nd drawer on right.”

“I see you’re special,” Jane says.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You get the pink ones. The rest of us have to make do with pedestrian yellow; you’ll have noticed that she saves the esoteric colors for her own desk.”

Helena says, “I made the mistake of relaying to Claudia a strange story involving my daughter and superheroes. She is now _thrilled_ to give me, or even to direct my attention to, anything pink.”

Jane laughs. “Claudia enjoys a good story. I’m surprised we haven’t all heard it, whatever it is.”

“I swore her to secrecy before I told her,” Helena admits. “I was trying to explain why Steve had happened to use the word ‘nemesis’ to refer to a particular person, and I attempted to tell only _part_ of the story, but she sensed that something was being left out, so… but you don’t care about that,” she says.

“I care that you seem to have caught a mild case of the chronic providing of information that Claudia suffers from.” But she says this with a smile.

They reach the lobby. “Where are we going?” Helena asks.

“Coffee,” Jane says. And when after a short time they are seated in a small shop, matching black coffees in hand, Jane continues, “You should know, there’s been some talk about Warehouse discontinuing its relationship with Chessboard.”

“What? From whom? Why?”

“General discomfort with the direction of your recommendations. It’s going to be very tricky, implementing these new strategies while trying to navigate the various regulatory agencies. Challenging.” She looks directly at Helena.

There is clearly some challenge here that Helena herself is meant to meet. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t want to see you go. I like the direction this is headed. Pete likes it, too. Steve’s discussion with him about bringing fantasy football into his business? Brilliant.”

“Steve can discuss fantasy football for hours, business or no,” Helena says.

“Well, business or no, Pete likes Steve. We both do, and we like you as well. If I had my way, Warehouse would keep you around on a permanent basis.”

“But you won’t have your way, apparently. And you won’t share the reason for that?”

“Let’s just say that, given those navigational challenges I mentioned, there are conservative influences at work. Pete and I have to keep working here, and we don’t want to make any enemies, but you need to make sure that you aren’t being undermined… that the wrong messages aren’t being sent. The future can be a frightening place, Helena. Some people just don’t want to go there. If they rule the day, you will be gone.”

Gone. Helena has her suspicions regarding who at Warehouse Finance might be uninterested in going to the future… and she thinks that being gone might just be the most desirable outcome, as far as she herself is concerned. But then she thinks of how long Caturanga pursued this company, how he wanted to prove that Chessboard had something major to contribute to the financial industry. He had waxed lyrical to Helena and Steve about showing the value of modern data to “the hidebound moneylenders in their very temple!” Helena had considered pointing out that his metaphor made no sense at all… but his metaphors always got away from him when he was at his most enthusiastic.

Helena does not want to be the one whose action—or in this case, inaction—quashes that enthusiasm. She has been tiptoeing and taking care for far too long at this Warehouse, apparently to no positive effect. Enough of that, then. Enough of that.

****

That evening, just as the office is closing, Helena says to Claudia, “Would you be so kind as to ask Myka to see me in the conference room? If she has a moment?”

“Market closed hours and hours ago, H.G. What makes you think she’s still here? In five minutes, _I’m_ not even here, and I’m _always_ here.”

“This is Thursday,” Helena says.

Claudia’s entire _being_ lights up. “You _do_ listen to what I tell you!”

“Particularly when you reinforce your telling with a written reminder.” Two weeks prior, Helena received a post-it that said “M stays late Thursday for do you remember what I said?” And Helena had remembered, though not quite as precisely as Claudia would have preferred: it was some sort of martial arts instruction.

“I’ll tell her,” Claudia says. “And I’ll tell her so she’ll actually do it.”

“That _would_ help,” Helena says.

“It’s a power move, making her come to you.”

Helena reaches for one of Claudia’s notes. “May I?” she asks. Claudia nods. Helena writes two words, then hands the note to Claudia.

Claudia reads aloud: “I know.” She squeals a tiny squeal, slaps the note in the very center of her computer monitor, and dashes for Myka’s office.

****

When Myka strides into the conference room, demanding, “What do you want?”, Helena is ready. She has placed herself so that the table is between them, so that she can lean over it as she says, “I want to _do my job_.”

“No,” Myka says with something very like a head-toss, making that uncontrolled hair move every which way, “what do you want _from me_?”

This makes Helena want to grind her teeth. “All I want from you is buy-in!” And she hates the way her voice rises as she says it.

“Give me one good reason why I should give you that,” Myka challenges.

“I will stop bothering you,” Helena tells her. “I will never bother you again. I will never _darken your door_.”

And yet Myka’s face darkens. “That isn’t a good reason.”

“What?”

“That’s a terrible reason.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“If you want buy-in from me, I think you have to really tell me what good you’re going to do. What the positive outcome is going to be.”

Helena sighs. “I have tried to suggest the positive outcome: more business, conducted more successfully. But you refuse to listen to me.”

And Myka sighs right back. “You said some things about Twitter. Seriously?”

“Have you not read any of the emails sent by me, or by Steve? Have you not spoken to any of your coworkers about the marketing approaches, and market analytics, we have begun to propose? How in the world can you be so dismissive when you don’t even know what you are dismissing so cavalierly?”

“Cavalierly?”

“Offhandedly. In an arrogant, inconsiderate fashion.”

Ah, that was a hit: “I _know_ what the _word_ means,” Myka says, and now she is sulky, angry.

“Then stop enacting it,” Helena says, as silkily as she can. She is possessed by a strong desire to hand Myka a ballpoint pen that features a grip.

Myka gathers herself for yet another assault. “Do you have any idea how many emails are in my inbox every day? Every hour?”

“I could not possibly care less how many emails are in your inbox! That is not the point!”

“What _is_ the point?”

And Helena gathers herself too. “I have tried _mightily_ to recover from my time-zone error, which I _freely admit_ was an error. I have tried mightily not to interfere with the way you conduct your business. And yet how do you repay this courtesy?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you honestly going to stand there and tell me that you are not the one trying to get me fired?” Now she is being lied to—but didn’t Claudia say that Myka doesn’t lie when it counts?—and now she begins to step around the table, to advance, to show Myka how unacceptable this is. How she, Helena, _will not_ accept it.

Myka says—defensively?—“I’m not trying to get you fired. But I might start trying, if _you_ are honestly going to stand there and tell me that you haven’t tried to interfere with my business.”

Nonplussed, Helena asks, “How in the world have I interfered with your business?”

“Saying that I shouldn’t go on client visits!”

“What are you talking about? I never said that! You, on the other hand, have apparently actively attempted to get us, and particularly me, thrown out.”

Myka raises both her hands, shakes them at Helena, truly raises her voice for the first time: “No I have not… but as of right now I’m going to start, because you’re clearly deranged.”

“ _I’m_ deranged?”

Myka snarls, “Well, one of us is, and it isn’t me!”

She turns, makes as if to leave, begins to pull on the door handle—and Helena is right there, leaping to stop her, leaning against the door, snarling back, “Don’t you dare.” They are inches from each other. If Helena wanted to body-block her at this point, she could.

“Dare what,” Myka says, but she is breathing heavily, like she’s running, like they are actually in the fight that they are in.

“Walk out on me!” Helena spits. “ _Glide_ out, as if none of this matters!” This to the woman who slides away in airports, who doesn’t show up for meetings, who is always only _nodding_ to Helena, never saying words, never _engaging_.

“Of course it _matters_!” Myka snaps.

Helena demands, “Does it?” And she is demanding, she is _asking_ ; she hates it, but she is _asking_ , and there is nothing left to do now, nothing left to do but to put her hands on this woman, to _touch_ this woman, and if Myka pulls away, if she tears herself away now then so be it…

… but she does not tear herself away; she moves toward Helena just as strongly, and they are both pushing, and their mouths are a breath away and then no breath away, and “don’t you dare” and anything else Helena ever said is nothing, _nothing_ , because she cannot pretend anymore, and neither can Myka, not possibly, not when her mouth is moving like this against Helena’s, not when the feel of it crowds out everything else Helena might ever have thought about anything, anyone, any job, any idea…

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

It’s a mess of a kiss, but it’s a lengthy, glorious mess, and Helena’s hands are finding their way up Myka’s neck and into the softness of her hair, and Helena can feel Myka’s hands burning against her arms and her back and everywhere else they land…  they are both trying to keep their balance, and she might be pushing Myka back against the door or Myka might be pushing her back against the table or they might simply be pushing…

…but now they are breaking apart, leaning back, staring at each other, and while Helena has never seen a face express surprise so archetypally as Myka’s does in this moment, she knows her own features are showing Myka the same thing.

 _How long have I wanted this?_ Helena is thinking, and she is also thinking _It doesn’t matter because now I will in fact be fired and possibly even by Caturanga._

Myka takes a half-step backward, bumps into the door jamb, fumbles with the handle behind her. “I’m… I have a… and I’m late. I think. For it…”

Helena finds her own voice. “You’d better go, then.” Because now Myka looks shocked, and Helena thinks that the sooner they don’t have to watch each other’s faces as they slide ever more surely into horror, the better.

She is standing there, herself still shocked, when she hears a tap on the door. Claudia opens it and peeks in. “So how’d your power move work out?” she asks.

Helena says, “I… I have no idea.”

“Okeydoke. Anyway, Myka just went flying out of here, and she took the stairs instead of the elevator, if that’s useful information for you.”

“I have no idea about that, either.”

“Also okeydoke. So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Helena doesn’t answer.

Claudia says, “Let me guess: you have no idea.”

“Honestly, no. Not at this point.”

“At this point, H.G., I am questioning your power move.”

Helena gives a weak chuckle. “At this point, so am I.”

****

Helena decides to pretend that nothing happened. In the absence of further data, she will get up at her now-customary ungodly hour of the morning, she will go to the Warehouse offices, and she will continue to do her job.

She is early. By five, she is ensconced in the conference room—the scene of the crime, she can’t quite keep from thinking—because it is the quietest space in the suite and because Claudia has assured her that no meetings are scheduled for the morning.

When Claudia appears at the door, however, Helena assumes she is being thrown out. Whether from the conference room only, or from the Warehouse entirely, she doesn’t know…

But Claudia says, “Reciprocal power move.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Myka just got here. First thing she said to me was, ‘Is she here?’ Second thing she said to me was, ‘Send her to my office _right now_.’ _Right now_ has arrived, H.G. Here’s hoping you survive it. I’m just gonna sit in here and wait, okay?”

“And not eavesdrop?”

“I think she would kill me. I think she’s _gonna_ kill you, for whatever her reason is today, and I also think that if I somehow manage to escape death I don’t want to be a witness at her trial.”

“I don’t want to be the reason there _is_ a trial. I don’t want to give her the opportunity to commit a crime. I also don’t want to leave you alone in here. There could be sensitive data on my computer, and then _you_ would be put on trial for industrial espionage of some sort.” Helena’s palms feel a bit damp.

“H.G.,” Claudia says.

“Hm?”

“You are vamping.”

“Yes I am.”

“Do you want me to just tell her you died?”

“What?”

“Yeah, I could say that you just kind of squawked and fell over and died. When I was a kid I had a bird, and that was what happened. I could tell her that.”

“That must have been very sad for you. But of course that’s one of the reasons to let children have pets, I suppose, so they come to understand death. I’ve considered getting a pet for Christina, but they tend to be so much more work for the parent than for the child—”

“H.G.”

“Hm?”

“Please go talk to her. I don’t want to find my post-its in the trash because I didn’t send you over fast enough.”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

“Not if you go and tell her not to. Would you at least do that?”

Helena scowls at Claudia. “You are as manipulative as my daughter. But yes. I will go and tell her not to put your post-its in the trash for not sending me over fast enough. All right? But when the result is that I do squawk and fall over and die, you will be the one explaining to my daughter, to my brother, and to Steve that my demise came in the course of heroically saving your post-its.”

“It’s a deal,” Claudia says. Helena thinks she sounds far too enthusiastic about such a deal.

****

 _Pretend that nothing happened_ , Helena tells herself as she knocks on Myka’s door. _Or, no, apologize for what happened. Swear that it will never happen again._

But she is not sure she can swear to that, not when Myka opens the door and just _looks_ at Helena.

“Please don’t dispose of Claudia’s post-its,” Helena starts to say, “just because I—”

—but then she is being grabbed by her shirt front and hauled inside the office, and the door is slammed behind her and she herself is slammed up against it, and Myka is kissing her again, and it is a very good thing that Helena did not swear to anything, because she will _absolutely not_ forswear this, not for anything. It is as hot and insistent as before, but slower somehow, because they _have_ done it before, because while it is certainly a surprise it is not a _physical_ surprise, not brand-new, just still new, and _how long have I wanted this?_ is fast becoming _how could I not have known I wanted this?_ and _oh, how I want this_.

If only they were somewhere truly private, so that Helena could let her fingers truly disarrange Myka’s hair, so that Myka’s hands could move under Helena’s shirt instead of simply pulling at it, so that they could both say things out loud, instead of whispering noises against each other’s lips, noises that are barely even words.

But now Myka pulls her mouth away, and now Helena can discern words. “Oh my god,” Myka is saying. “Oh my god. What am I _doing_?”

Helena can’t determine how to respond: Be flippant (“kissing me in a variety of ways that blessedly involve your tongue”)? Be serious (“making me fall for you very hard, very quickly”)? She chooses a third way, a cowardly way: be silent.

“Because I can’t just…” Myka says. “Okay. Okay. You have to leave now, because I can’t…”

And the way she says it… all Helena can think is that Myka isn’t happy about this at all. At all. She may have wanted to kiss Helena—she _obviously_ wanted to kiss Helena—but she didn’t want to want to, not like Helena did. Does. And yet still Helena can’t keep a small hopeful note out of her own voice as she asks, “Do I?”

Myka looks at the floor and shakes her head. “Yeah. You do.” She doesn’t look up.

Helena wants to hold her and kiss her in a completely different way, a way that shows it doesn’t have to be like this, that Myka _can_ , that she absolutely can… but instead she settles for—again, she feels it to be the cowardly way—attempting to slink out of Myka’s office and steal back into the conference room.

Of course, that turns out to be impossible: Pete is passing by. “H.G.!” he exclaims. “Howsitgoin?”

“Oddly,” she says.

“But it’s Friday, so who cares, right?”

“Right. I’m sure.”

He takes her elbow and pulls her to the side of the hallway. “Hey,” he says conspiratorially.

“Yes?” Does he know? He can’t know, not yet, about what just happened, but last night happened last night, and he and Myka are strangely close…

“I got a question for you. And you don’t have to answer it, because I know it isn’t really my business, okay?”

So he does know. Helena braces herself.

“Do you think maybe Steve is into Liam?”

“What?”

“You know, your buddy Steve. I think he might like Liam. And I think that if he does, he should probably know—like, somebody should tell him—that Liam probably likes him too.”

“Why are you telling me this? Why don’t you just tell Steve?”

“More fun this way,” Pete says. He raises his upper body and resettles it: an almost literal bounce. “Now I gotta go see what kind of money I can make. Got any hot tips?”

“Avoid power moves,” Helena tells him. “They’re very confusing.”

“So’s the commodities market. I’d stay out of sugar futures if I were you.”

As Helena is trying to puzzle out whether that is meant to be symbolically meaningful, Claudia taps her on the shoulder and hands her a post-it. “Your shirt’s untucked in the back,” it says.

“It’s how I prefer to wear it,” Helena tells her.

“FYI, it wasn’t how you preferred to wear it ten minutes ago. I think I’m starting to get the gist of your power moves, there, Romeo.”

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

On Saturday morning, Steve and Christina are preparing to go museuming, as they do regularly. It is LACMA today; there is an exhibition of, in Christina’s words, “creepy pictures of dolls,” and she is very excited to see them. Her enthusiasm is quite odd, the adults have agreed, given that Christina in general hates dolls and won’t have them in the house. Stuffed and plastic animals are fine, but not human figures. Helena asks her if she will be able to sleep through the night after she sees these creepy pictures, and Christina rolls her eyes: “It’s not _really_ dolls. It’s _art_ , Mom.”

“You woke up screaming for three nights straight after you watched that strange animated Barbie-doll movie with your friends. And that was not really dolls, either.”

“It wasn’t art,” Christina tells her.

Steve says, “I’ll pull the plug if it gets too weird.”

“You just mean if it gets too weird for _you_ ,” Christina accuses.

“You bet that’s what I mean.”

“You need to man up, Dad Steve.”

Helena sighs. “Please do not say that. Why your uncle ever suggested it would be appropriate, I have no idea, but ‘man up’ is a ridiculous expression chock full of outdated notions about gender…” She sees that both Christina and Steve are trying not to giggle. “I see. Just to annoy _me_ , then.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Christina says. “But you need to remember that I really do get what words mean in this day and age.”

“Go brush your teeth and get your shoes on, kid,” Steve tells her. “We need to get moving. Your creepy pictures might be really popular—I mean, I can’t really imagine it, but the L.A. art world’s a weird place.”

“She gets what words mean,” Helena quotes at Steve when they are alone. “In this day and age. I have to say, in this day and age I am feeling a bit of nostalgia for the day and age when she did not yet know how to speak.”

“I guess I do vaguely remember that day and age,” Steve says. “But you should remember that it was even harder then, because of how frustrated she’d get when nobody could understand whatever messages she was trying to get across.”

“I still can’t understand whatever messages she’s trying to get across. Also, speaking of messages: Pete told me to tell you—or rather, he told me that somebody should tell you—that Liam probably likes you.”

“Oh,” Steve says.

“I can’t translate that ‘oh,’” Helena tells him.

“It just means, ‘oh, I think I already know that.’ Because we sort of… went out last night. And we had a really nice time.”

“Well,” Helena says. “That’s lovely.” And it _is_ lovely, but she is envious. She is imagining going out with Myka, as two people might do, on a Friday night: dinner, a stroll or a drive, a kiss that would cause no one to look horrified…

“I don’t think you mean that. Was it a bad idea? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want us fired, if that helps at all.”

Helena has been considering whether she should tell Steve what happened with Myka. “I think you and Liam are a fine idea. If we are fired, it will be my fault,” she begins. “I’m… in a situation. With Myka.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t translate that one, either.”

“Means the same thing: ‘oh, I think I already know that.’”

“You do?” Does this mean Claudia has decided to tell people? Helena had been fairly certain she would not do that, but—

“I just mean it isn’t a huge surprise. Abigail was joking about how she was going to have pocketknives personally engraved for everybody so we could cut the tension between you two.”

“Personally engraved pocketknives?”

“Abigail’s got kind of a weird sense of humor.”

“I kissed her.”

“Abigail?” Steve grins at Helena like a puppy who has just retrieved a ball.

“Do not try to be funny.”

“Okay. So you kissed her. That seems more like you resolving the situation, or starting to, anyway.”

“It happened rather suddenly. And then the next day she kissed me. Also suddenly.”

“Again, I am really not seeing the problem.”

“She _regrets_ it,” Helena says.

Steve shrugs. “Okay. Forget it and move on.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Oh. And before you ask, that one means, ‘oh, would you please act like an adult.’ You aren’t teenagers. Talk to her.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me!”

“Then get out your personally engraved pocketknife and carve her initials in a heart on a tree so maybe she’ll walk by it and see how much you like her. H.G., this is really not a problem.”

And while she had known that Steve would provide much-needed perspective and advice, still it is difficult to listen to. It is going to be that much harder, even, to act on.

A series of loud tapping noises heralds Christina’s return. “What’s not a problem?” she asks.

“A work thing,” Steve says. “Please tell me you’re bringing regular shoes too.”

“It could be a problem if Myka chooses to make it one,” Helena warns.

“I have regular shoes in my backpack, but I forgot I’m supposed to be breaking in the tap shoes. I’ll just wear them in the car. Who’s Myka?”

“That won’t help break them in. And Myka’s someone we’re working with,” Steve says. “Someone your mom thinks is—”

Helena tries to convey with a look that she would enjoy stabbing him with one of the postulated pocketknives. He laughs and says, “Someone your mom thinks is not responding appropriately. To stimuli.”

“Are you experimenting on her? Did you get her permission? Uncle Charles told me you have to get a signed consent form if you want to experiment on people.” She clatters out a poorly executed barrel roll.

“I think,” Steve says, still laughing, “that that might be part of the issue.”

“I sincerely wish you many nightmares involving creepy dolls,” Helena tells him. “Performing tapdances.”

“That’s mean, Mom,” Christina says.

“Such that you wake up screaming,” Helena adds.

“Should’ve got that consent form signed!” Steve calls over his shoulder as Christina grabs his hand and starts to pull him toward the front door. She throws in an extra click with every step.

Helena is sure it is the clicks—and not the fact that Steve is absolutely correct—that make her briefly ideate a desire to stab _herself_ with a pocketknife.

****

Sunday evening, Helena’s telephone rings, and when she sees that it is Caturanga calling, she steels herself. She can get another job, of course. She is a capable person who has simply suffered two appalling lapses in judgment. Besides, if she is fired, she will at least no longer have to see Myka Bering… no longer see her, no longer feel that strange underscored pull towards her, no longer want to touch her with this wild want that threatens and promises all sorts of dangerous loss of equilibrium.

“Hello,” she says into the telephone, as determinedly as she can.

“My dear!” Caturanga exclaims. “Do you know what you are doing tomorrow?”

He cannot possibly want to have fun with this, can he? “Arising at an unconscionably early hour and going to Warehouse Finance?”

“No, you are mistaken,” he says.

Helena realizes that she had on some level truly believed that passionately kissing Myka Bering—not once but twice—had not been a mistake, had in fact been something they both wanted, something they would both continue wanting. But no. She was mistaken. “What am I doing, then?”

“You are going to visit the young men and, I believe, one young woman of Etailsity—and yes, we will be recommending a name change, so do not waste any worry over that—in order to assist Mr. Wolcott.”

“Oh,” Helena says. So she is not losing her job entirely—just _this_ job. “And what is Steve to do?”

“Steve? Steve is to work with Warehouse Financial per usual.”

“Oh,” Helena says again. So only _she_ is losing this job. “All right. That seems reasonable. I’m sure he’ll be able to handle it on his own.”

“Well, yes, I would imagine that he can live without you for one day.”

“One day?”

“Helena, we are still _quite_ committed to the concern that is Warehouse Financial. Mr. Wolcott merely wants you to cast your expert eye upon some relevant data in its natural habitat.”

And so Helena spends her Monday with Wolcott, attempting to assess the needs of—and also to corral the children who work for—a tech startup. It is exhausting, but she is glad of it, for she has no time to think of Warehouse Finance or its denizens. She gets home late, with barely enough time for a conversation with Christina and Charles; she goes to bed far too late as well, knowing that she will regret it in the morning when she is forced back onto Warehouse’s timetable.

She is so tired as she rides the elevator up to the offices at five the next morning that she worries about Myka only a little. Perhaps they will not even interact today. Perhaps they can simply not interact ever again, not truly—just nod occasionally from across the room, as they had not quite managed to keep to before. She tries to convince herself that she hopes this will happen.

Her hopes, realistic or not, are dashed when, as the elevator doors open, Claudia leaps at her. “If I were you,” she says, “I would take advantage of this opportunity.”

“What opportunity?”

Claudia just looks at her.

Helena sighs. “Fine. Is she in her office?”

“Duh, H.G. That’s why it’s an opportunity.”

“I still don’t know what it’s an opportunity _for_ ,” Helena complains. “Or why I ought to take advantage of it.”

“Oh Romeo,” Claudia says, “Romeo. Wherefore wert thou, Romeo?”

“What?” Helena asks, but then she forgets what she is asking about as she realizes that Myka has opened her office door and is waiting, staring at Helena, and her expression is for once not annoyed, not distressed, but something far softer, something that draws Helena to her.

Myka doesn’t say anything. She just moves slightly to the side, so that Helena can brush past her into the space.

She reaches around Helena to close the door, and Helena looks briefly back at Claudia. She expects to see something dramatic, such as a thumbs-up, or the waving of a flag made of post-its. But Claudia just smiles.

Myka continues to draw Helena closer with her soft, quiet gaze. “I thought about you all weekend,” she says.

“You did?” Helena tries, and fails, to keep the first bloom of a smile from her mouth, from her eyes.  
  
“Of course I did. After what happened on Friday…” She sighs out a breath, and it sounds exactly like every sigh Helena has sighed when she has let herself think about what happened on Friday—think about it, that is, as a kiss instead of as a disastrous _event_.

There is too little space between them for Helena not to close it. So she does: she takes Myka’s arms and pulls her nearer, unbalances her so that Myka must momentarily brace her hands on the door to keep from falling completely against Helena’s body… but then Myka clearly gives up; she pushes Helena against that door, as she did on Friday, but slower than that, sweeter than that. “Where _were_ you yesterday?” she demands. “Claudia didn’t know. _Steve_ didn’t even know.” Her kiss, when it comes, is adamant, even more distance-closing.

Once her mouth is free again, Helena says, “You asked Claudia _and_ Steve.” She is thrilled and charmed.

“I didn’t know where you were! I didn’t know if you were even coming back!”

“You could have called me,” Helena says.

Myka looks away. “I didn’t know if we… I mean, I didn’t know what kind of… if that would be too…” She stops, clears her throat. “Because what if it was my fault?”

“ _Your_ fault?”

“If you decided you couldn’t come back because I harassed you. The last thing you’d have wanted would be for me to call you and harass you more.”

“I think there’s been a grave misunderstanding,” Helena says. She reaches a hand up to run gently, but deliberately, against Myka’s hair. “I will admit that until Thursday, I did not realize I wanted to do that. In fact I would have said it was the furthest thing from my mind, as far as you were concerned.”

The corners of Myka’s mouth turn down, and she narrows her eyes.

“And that look is one reason why,” Helena says lightly. “I genuinely thought we couldn’t stand each other.”

“Well, maybe we can’t,” Myka says, but she leans down and moves her lips against Helena’s neck. “Except for this.”

“Let’s find out. Let me buy you coffee.”

“What?”

“Sounds a bit boring, doesn’t it, after our last few… encounters. But let’s start with that. After market hours, of course.”

Myka starts to smile. “I think that would be great,” she says. Then she really, truly, _fully_ smiles; she doesn’t look surprised or shocked or horrified, and Helena finds her preposterously beautiful. She is sure she will be able to think of nothing but this smile, all day. Then Myka kisses her again, and Helena thinks that perhaps it is not _only_ Myka’s smile she will be thinking about…

She is still dazed when she goes out to Claudia’s desk and tells her, “Myka says to inform you that she will be away from her desk for a significant portion of the afternoon.”

“Better check your shirt, H.G.,” Claudia says.

Helena looks down, fumbles for her shirt-tail. She doesn’t see how it could possibly have—

“Made you look,” Claudia cackles. Then she hands Helena a post-it.

It says, “It’s about time.”

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

The stock market closes at one. Helena knows there is an opening bell that is symbolically rung, but is there a sound for closing? This is a question to which Myka might know the answer, so Helena saves it for use at some point in their conversation… she is about to start making a list of additional potential topics when Steve walks into the conference room. “What’s up?” he asks.

Helena is immediately suspicious. “Why? Have you heard that something is up?”

“Ugh, no, I wish,” Steve says. “It’s just that I’m bored, and I’ll probably keep on being bored until we hear back from the Warehouse corporate offices about that social media proposal.” He sits down in the chair next to Helena and stretches out his legs. “Some days, don’t you wish our job was to come in and rearrange people’s desks so they’d take fewer steps and save time?”

“The idea is to take more steps now. For fitness.”

“I guess it’s a delicate balance.”

“What time is it?”

Steve turns his head to squint at her. “Your laptop is right in front of you.”

Helena looks down at the screen. “Perhaps its clock has stopped working.”

“Okay, I’ll ask again: what’s up?”

“Nothing is up.”

Steve starts laughing. “That’s the tone Christina uses when she’s trying to hide the fact that something’s likely to blow up any minute now.”

“Nothing is likely to blow up any minute now. Unless it’s one o’clock. In which case, possibly.”

He looks at his wrist. He wears a beautiful watch that once belonged to his grandfather, and Christina has already laid claim to it to pass on to her children. “It’s not in fact one yet,” he says, “so I guess you’re good? What happens at one?”

“The market closes.”

“Yeah, I know that. Or haven’t you noticed that Pete practically sets off fireworks right about then?”

Helena sniffs. “I feel that Pete would hardly need an occasion to set off fireworks.”

“That seems true. So what happens at one today? Are _you_ setting off fireworks?”

“I certainly hope not.” She sighs. “Myka and I are to have coffee.”

“That’s good, though!” In the manner of someone encouraging a three-year-old.

“Yes? I mean, yes.”

“But you’re nervous,” he guesses.

“God, yes.” She pushes her hand through her hair. “Do I _look_ nervous? I would rather not look it.”

“I don’t know. I don’t see you nervous all that much, but you do look kind of… off. This is weird.”

“We were discussing the weirdness of this Warehouse situation just the other day, were we not?”

Steve sits up. “We were. What do you think, is there some kind of spell on us, maybe?”

And Helena has no honest choice but to tell him, “I find that a _horrifyingly_ plausible explanation.”

****

Steve eventually wanders off in search of something more interesting than “listening to you ask every five seconds what time it is.”

“But your watch has a second hand. You can tell me precisely,” Helena protests as he leaves.

“It’s like you really don’t know how to use a computer. Or your phone,” he says. He sounds exactly like their daughter.

Helena forces herself to wait until the time on her computer reads 1:02, at which point she shuts the machine off and stows it in her bag. She hefts that bag over her shoulder and walks—she forces herself now to move no faster than a normal, measured pace—to Claudia’s desk—and she has no banter in her at this point, so she does not stop—past Claudia’s desk, to Myka’s door.

It is, according to her telephone, 1:03. Helena congratulates herself on her restraint as she knocks on the door.

At 1:03:01, she is pulled into the office. Again.

For five seconds, she and Myka stare at each other.

At 1:03:06, Helena—her fine restraint a thing of the distant past—drops her bag to the floor and reaches for Myka.

At 1:03:07, Helena’s back is against the door—again—and their mouths are locked together—again.

By the time Helena has another coherent thought, she has utterly lost track of anything resembling time, her back is flat against the surface of Myka’s desk, Myka is leaning over her, and each is saying some version of “we should not do this here” while trying and mostly failing to stop touching the other.

“Myka,” Helena says, “we _really_ must stop.” It is taking every single iota of self-control she can gather and stick together to keep herself from undoing the buttons of Myka’s very lovely, and, she has discovered, very _soft to the touch_ , blue shirt.

“I agree. I completely agree. I am looking at what we’re doing and I’m acknowledging that we absolutely have to stop.” She leans further down and licks Helena’s collarbone. “We have to stop and go drink coffee.”

“Am I the one who had that idea? That sounds like a terrible idea,” Helena says.

“I agree with that too.”

“You’re not always this agreeable,” Helena says. “There must be something distinguishing about these circumstances.”

“Distinguishing, compromising…”

“Do you feel compromised?” Helena asks. She pulls Myka down, and this time she is _trying_ to steal her breath.

“I’m sorry, what was your question?” Myka asks after a very long moment.

Helena answers, truthfully, “I have no idea.”

“Okay,” Myka says. She makes a visible effort to push herself up, to stand up. Helena sits up on her elbows. Myka blinks at her and says, “Well, no wonder.”

“No wonder what?”

“No wonder we keep having this problem. If you’re going to keep looking like that.”

“Is it a problem?”

Myka smiles her full smile. “That this keeps happening? I think some people might think it’s a problem. _You_ don’t seem to, which I think is good, but _some_ people might.” She looks to Helena’s side, and her eyes widen. Helena sits all the way up, then looks down at the desk: a clock. Myka exclaims, “It’s almost two! How did it get to be almost two already?”

Helena can’t come up with a sufficiently funny flippant answer, or a particularly momentous serious one, so she goes with silence again. But it is a meaningful silence, not avoidant this time.

Myka is silent too, and it’s a tiny relief to Helena that they can be still for at least these few minutes.

Finally, Helena says, “Should we try for that coffee now?”

“I don’t think so,” Myka says. Helena doesn’t realize her face has fallen, but Myka follows that swiftly with, “No, you can’t look sad _and_ sexy at the same time. I could die from that. No, it’s the time. I have a board meeting in a couple hours, and before that I have to get some reports ready for tomorrow.”

“Well,” Helena tries, and she is also trying not to think about the word _sexy_ , “how about tomorrow then? Same time?”

“I can’t. That’s what the reports are for; I have to drive to Barstow to meet with some clients, and then see another couple in San Bernardino on the way back down.”

“Thursday,” Helena says, though the idea of waiting that long is intolerable.

“I have a better idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Why don’t you come with me? It’s two birds with one stone: you can see some more about my business, and also, we’ll be forced to have the time in the car.”

“Forced?” Helena says, but then she realizes. “Oh. We can talk, and we can’t do much else.”

“Although, cars,” Myka muses. “You can stop cars. We might be tempted.”

“We could take separate cars.”

“That would be terrible, environmentally. Plus it would defeat the conversational purpose.”

“We could take separate cars and talk on the telephone during the trip.”

“Environmentally disastrous _plus_ distracted driving. Should we take thermoses of margaritas, too?”

“We should take the bus and hold hands.”

“Oh, we _should_ ,” Myka says, and she seems at least momentarily to mean it, and Helena now really does want to hold hands with her all the way to Barstow. And back.

****

It is two fifteen when Helena leaves Myka’s office.

Claudia has her arms crossed and is leaning back in her chair. “Interesting coffee date,” she says.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Helena says.

“Aw, H.G, you’ve usually got a lot more conversational _energy_ than that. Did you use it all up?”

“I feel fine,” Helena tells her. She turns to go.

Claudia clears her throat. “H.G? There’s a post-it stuck to your back.”

“If it says ‘kick me,’” Helena warns, “I will be showing you how energetic my conversation can be.”

“I didn’t put it there.”

“Then who…” She realizes, belatedly, where her back has just been. She decides it would be best to keep her mouth shut.

Claudia says, “The thing is, I gave that particular note to Myka not too long ago. And H.G, I am not trying to tell you where you should and shouldn’t, I don’t know, work it out. Because I am Team Bering and Wells all the way. But—”

“Team Bering and Wells?”

“I think you can puzzle that one out for yourself. Plus I’m getting T-shirts made for almost everybody, and when we wear ’em to play softball against those dorks from Morgan Stanley, they are gonna be _so awesomely confused_. Anyway, like I was saying, I’m not telling you what to do, but I _am_ telling you it’s maybe not the best idea to walk around right here wearing a post-it telling Myka that she’s got a date with you.”

“ _That’s_ what it says?” Helena reaches her right arm behind her back and turns her head, looking for the note.

“Basically.”

“She needed a _reminder_?”

“No. I _gave_ her a reminder.”

“I’m not seeing the distinction.” She isn’t seeing much of anything, really, as she’s turned herself completely around several times trying to get her hand on the blasted piece of yellow that’s stuck just at the edge of her vision, just beyond the reach of her fingertips.

“Do you know what she said to me, right before I gave it to her?”

“No, Claudia. I do not know what she said to you.”

“She said, is it one yet?”

Helena finally manages to peel the note from her shirt. It reads, “Myka: 1PM, dream date with HG!”

“And do you know what she said to me, right _after_ I gave it to her?”

Helena exhales, as patiently as she can. “No, Claudia.”

“She said, is it one _now_?”

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

They work out the details of the next day by telephone, in the evening, to avoid the distraction of a closed office door: they will have to spend the greater part of the morning in the office, Myka apologetically tells Helena, because she has promised Pete she will try to support his “probably crazy” commodities recommendation in the ideas meeting. Helena assures Myka that she is always happy to collect more data points regarding how the advisors function as a team. “We don’t function as a team at all,” Myka sighs. “You really should see how disastrous we are at our charity softball games.” Helena refrains from mentioning the new wardrobe Claudia has proposed for those games.

They determine that in order to continue to avoid, or at least to mitigate, distraction the next morning, they will meet each other in the parking garage, first thing. “To get it out of our systems,” they agree. “To take the edge off.” But even after a great deal of energetic getting it out of their systems, once they go upstairs, and certainly once they are in the meeting, it is clear—even though they sit across the room from each other—that the edge is still very much on.

Pete’s commodities notion has something to do with coffee, and Liam holds up his hand. “Returns are almost 90 percent on the best coffee ETPs, funds _and_ notes, already this year! Why would you ever think there’s more room?”

“Sucky coffee-growing weather, worldwide sleep deprivation, Starbucks, and does nobody ever listen when I say K-cups? _Plus_ attitudes like yours, which are totally gonna short-term everything down, and then _boom_! Smarties like me get the gains. Right, Mykes?”

Myka says a startled “what?” and Helena immediately looks down guiltily, for she and Myka have been staring at each other, and Helena has been thinking about the parking garage, and she is very much afraid that, based on Myka’s expression and her breathing, she too was focusing on how exhaust fumes turned out, unexpectedly, to be an aphrodisiac.

“Me talk,” Pete says. “You agree. Remember how that was gonna go?”

Myka sits up straighter. “Right. Yes. Whatever Pete said, it was probably a good idea.”

“Huh,” Abigail says. “But what about what Liam said?”

Myka narrows her eyes at both Abigail and Liam. “That was probably very intelligent as well.”

“Wow,” Pete says, with great sarcasm, “that was some really high-level props for me, Mykes. Awesome effort.”

Artie intervenes. “Myka, do you have anything of your own to contribute here?”

“I’m about to drive to Barstow,” Myka says. “All the ideas I have are related to that.” She shoots a glance, and what seems to be a small involuntary smile, at Helena. Helena is concerned that she herself will lose control of her own face at some point and just start grinning like an idiot.

“Well, would you like to share them?” Artie asks. He pulls his glasses down his face and looks at her. Then he looks at Helena, who tries to do her best impression of Christina’s “I am as innocent as the day is long” aspect.

Myka shakes her head. “Not really. Well, I could, but I think Pete would be way too interested.”

Helena presses her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing. She closes her eyes. When she opens them, Jane Lattimer is looking at her. Jane shifts her gaze to Myka, then back to Helena. A knowing smirk overtakes her mouth.

Pete says, “I keep explaining to you, you have to actually _tell_ the joke, or it isn’t really a joke.”

“It’s not a joke,” Myka tells him. “It’s very very serious.”

Jane says, “I would like to hear some actual ideas in response to a particular question.” She says it in a way that demands complete attention, and even Helena manages to concentrate, for the next fifteen minutes, on how the advisors recommend dealing with a client who has determined that gold and lottery tickets are his best investment bets.

When the meeting is over, when Artie and Jane and Pete have left—Pete performing what he has named “the dance of me being right about coffee”—Abigail turns to Steve and Liam and says, “Seriously, I am ordering those pocketknives.”

Helena says to her, “Steve told me.”

At that, Abigail laughs. “I’m not wrong. Clearly something’s changed, but I’m still not wrong.”

“You’re not wrong,” Helena says.

“I don’t even need to know exactly what you’re talking about,” Myka says. “You’re right, because you’re usually right.”

“I am, aren’t I,” Abigail agrees.

Myka says, “It’s okay?” and there is a tone in her voice that Helena doesn’t understand.

Abigail nods. “Of course it’s okay.”

At this, Myka gives an only slightly tempered version of her huge smile. Helena does not know whether to feel jealous or overjoyed, but when Myka turns to her and says, with sparkling eyes and even more of the smile, “Ready?”, she decides on the latter. Even though she does not really want to be in a car with Myka for almost two hours: instead, she wants to be in a bed with Myka, for far more than two hours. But this is what adults do. They drive to Barstow when they need to, even if they would rather be undressing each other with their _teeth_.

Helena wonders that she is not even more nervous than she feels herself to be: she has not wanted to remove anyone else’s clothing, with her teeth or any other way, for a very long time. Perhaps it can be chalked up to their initial antagonism. She is already so accustomed to any thoughts of Myka being enveloped in a haze of intensity… this is a far less significant shift than any initial investment of positive feeling would have been.

“Thank you for trying to steal that cab,” she imagines saying to Myka at some future point. But not now. Not yet. Now, they have mightily resisted taking more of the edge off in the parking garage, and Myka’s Prius is headed north on the 405; they will soon turn east. They were, at one point, holding hands, because they were joking about taking the bus, but then they didn’t let go, and it wasn’t a joke after that. But they are not doing so now because the traffic is heavy. “I’m sorry,” Myka had said as she extricated her hand from Helena’s and replaced it on the steering wheel, “I mean I’m _really_ sorry, but if we get in an accident, you _know_ Claudia will think it’s because… well, you know.”

“I do know,” Helena says, and then they are talking (and laughing) about Claudia and post-it notes and dream dates and coffee, and Helena thinks that she might want to be in this car for a significant portion of the rest of her life.

****

There are two meetings in Barstow: first, a young married couple who are Myka’s clients because the wife’s parents had been Myka’s clients—when the parents died, they left their daughter well off but with no idea of how to handle money. Myka had, as the daughter now enthuses to Helena, stepped in and made sure everything would be all right.

Second, they spend an hour with an older gentleman who some years ago sold his healthcare-services company for an extremely large amount of money.

“With millions of dollars,” Helena says after the meeting, in which Myka has made several recommendations, all met with rejection, “he retired to Barstow?” They are back in the car, driving southwest now, to San Bernardino.

“He’s _from_ there,” Myka tells her. Helena tries to imagine being from, and then voluntarily returning to, a barren almost-desert that is hours away from anything resembling civilization. Los Angeles presents difficulties that can seem insurmountable, but… she realizes that Myka is laughing at her and saying, “I like it when you don’t bother to hide what you’re thinking.”

“I’m also thinking I don’t understand why you drive all this way to meet with him if he’s just going to turn down every opportunity you offer him.”

“That’s why I do it. If I just call him and he turns things down, that’s that. But if I come out here and talk to him, he says no at first, but then he starts thinking. By the time I get to the office tomorrow morning, he’ll have left a message explaining why he’s decided that, for his own reasons that are not the same as mine, we’ll do some of what I suggested.”

“Why must clients—and I mean all clients of everyone, everywhere, not just yours—be coddled like babies?” Helena complains.

“I don’t mind it. Well, not that much. Some people just… it needs to be their idea. If this is what it takes for him to do what’s most likely the best thing for his money? That’s my job, to make that happen, so okay.”

****

The clients in San Bernardino are Ed and Lillian Flynn, a couple who, Helena thinks, must be in their early eighties. They are the first people who ever gave Myka their money to manage. Helena can see that they love her as a daughter, that they feel possessive of her, ready to leap to her defense, to protect her from anything remotely resembling criticism that Helena, as Myka’s “colleague from the firm,” might be inclined to offer.

“I’m Helena Wells,” she jumps in and says before Myka can introduce her, for the initials “H.G.” seem suddenly too harsh to introduce into the Flynns’ soft-focus, suburban-shading-to-rural lives.

“They’ll ask us to stay to dinner,” Myka had warned her. “Is that okay? I know it’ll be getting late. I can cut it short if you want to get back.”

“It’s fine. Everything is taken care of.” And it is. She had told Charles and Christina that she would perhaps be late, and she’d told Steve that she had no idea what she was doing at all. “Just don’t get us fired, okay?” he’d teased.

The Flynns are a charming mix of the fulfillment and breaking of stereotypes: Lillian promises them a delicious dinner, but she is the one who talks to Myka about their money, while Ed insists on taking Helena to his workshop, his garage that holds their cars and Winnebago (Helena thinks of Pete), and then his vast greenhouse, the plants in which are clearly more lovely and fascinating to him than all the tools and vehicles combined. He has flats upon flats of flowers that he has grown from seed and that await transplant into the yard, vegetables that he does not trust the direct California sun to treat sufficiently gently, ferns and other houseplants that are rotated into and out of the house itself throughout the year.

“It sounds exhausting,” Helena tells him.

“But look at what I get out of it!” he exclaims, sweeping an arm at the expanses.

Many of the vegetables from the greenhouse feature in the dinner. Ed details each one: what variety it is, how it was grown, how long that took. He asks Myka, “What happened with those tomato cuttings I gave you last time? Any luck?”

Myka says, “Not much. Honestly, I don’t see the sun a lot. Really busy at work, you know; hard to keep up with how the financial world’s changing.”

Helena tries to support her: “She’s right. Many changes are afoot. Both at Myka’s company and elsewhere.”

Ed says, “If you can’t grow a decent tomato plant, what good’s your job anyway?”

“Now Ed,” Lillian says.

They grill Helena about her life, her living situation; she explains that she has a daughter, but that—based on their concern—alas, no, she has no husband. Her brother is here from England as well, though, and he is very helpful. Almost like a nanny, in fact. (This is her gift to Christina.)

“You’re a sweet young lady, Helena. You’ll find a good man in no time,” Lillian assures her. “We keep telling Myka that eventually the right young man will come along for her, too, don’t we, Ed?”

“We do,” Ed says. Helena sees that her own role here is a bit like Ed’s: Myka says something, Helena affirms it. She thinks, just for a flash of a second, that she can see that as part of everyday life. “We have always done that,” Myka will say, and “yes, we have,” Helena will agree.

It is a clear and beautiful picture, just for that flash, but it disappears, and Myka is saying, “But I keep telling you two that the right young man most likely doesn’t exist.”

Lillian pats Myka’s arm. “You’re just too picky. We’ll keep hoping.”

“Okay,” Myka says, completely indulgently. But she gives Helena a look that manages somehow to combine resignation and apology… and heat. 

“I used to think they were right. That I really was just too picky,” Myka says as they are walking to the car after dinner, in the deepening dark, having been seen off with a bouquet of flowers from the greenhouse and four jars of various preserves and pickles, over which, Ed has instructed them, they are not to fight. “I would take my jar of raspberry jam, and I would nod and say ‘yes, the right young man, at some point I’m sure.’”

Myka is holding the flowers, which she begins to shift to one side as she reaches into her bag for the car keys. “Wait,” Helena says, because Myka’s face is even more beautiful here in the dark, muted against the shadowy flowers. She leans through the bouquet, through the softness of the petals, until their lips are meeting; Myka tastes of the dinner, the day, the drive.

“Helena,” Myka says.

“You haven’t called me that before.” She hasn’t, Helena thinks, called her much of anything before.

“Helena,” she says again. “Helena, if I ask you…”

“Ask me what?”

“I don’t want to go back to L.A. tonight. I could pretend to be tired, say something about the traffic and the long day, but that would be a lie. I don’t want to lie to you.”

“All right. Those are things you don’t want. What _do_ you want?”

“I want to us to find a hotel room, and I want to take you to it, and I want to close the door. And then I want everything.”

“Everything,” Helena says. She is having trouble breathing.

“As much of everything as we can do tonight.” Then she looks down at the ground, fidgets with what looks like embarrassment. “This wasn’t some plan I had, I swear—”

Helena says, “Even if it had been, do you think I would have said no? Have you failed to notice that I can’t keep my hands—can’t keep my _mouth_ —off of you?”

Myka looks down again, this time inhaling through the flowers. “I didn’t know how you felt about…” and she moves her free hand, and her gesture encompasses Helena, the day, the previous days, the entirety of the time they have known each other. “You know. About before, and now, and what keeps _happening_. What we should or shouldn’t _do_ about it.”

“Now you do know how I feel,” Helena says. “Does that make you want to change your plan? Or your mind?”

“Yes,” Myka says, but the way she says it gives Helena good chills, not bad ones.

“How?” she asks.

“Now I want to close that door _this second_.”

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

They stop at the first motel they see; Helena does not even remember, by the time they are walking, luggageless, down the outdoor hallway to their room, which chain it belongs to. That they are on the first floor, the first floor _outdoors_ —“Nothing with a view?” Myka had joked weakly at the desk—meant no elevator ride, no transitional space of semi-privacy, nothing to prepare them. If they could have been magically transported from the Flynns’ driveway to the room… but no, they had to get into the car and drive, and look intentionally for signs, and think about what they were going to do; Helena also had to call Charles to tell him she would not be home until morning.

Still, when the door clicks closed, Helena honestly expects to be thrown against it: it is almost a conditioned response, now, for her body to tense and then, once Myka is pressed against her, to begin to melt.

But Myka does not make that move. She does not make any move, so this time it is Helena who pushes an unaccountably passive, almost shy Myka against the closed door; this time it is Helena who maneuvers Myka onto her back, this time on the dreamed-of bed.

Helena is trying with all her might to get this to _work_ , to get them both to feel that rush of excitement, that need to push closer to each other, but it isn’t there. Myka’s hands are on her, but they aren’t burning, they aren’t urgent; it almost doesn’t _matter_ , and she can tell that her lips on Myka’s are having just as little an effect.

She thinks _is it that there has to be some danger we’ll be caught?_ and _is it my fault for calling home and letting that intrude?_ and _can I face an hour’s drive back to the city with her if we give up?_ The answer to the last question, she is certain, is no.

Act like an adult, Steve would say. Talk to her.

Helena is afraid of what Myka will say, if they start talking. But whatever is happening is not going to end well, not if it keeps happening this way. She reluctantly moves away from Myka—it feels just as awkward to sit up, away from her, as it had felt to push her down—and asks, “What’s wrong? Please tell me, what’s wrong?”

Myka shakes her head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

They are sitting side by side on the edge of the bed, and Helena turns her head to the right to look at Myka. Myka is staring straight ahead. Helena says, “Claudia told me you never lie when it counts. It counts now.”

“I started _thinking_.”

Helena says immediately, “Don’t do that tonight. Do that tomorrow. Can’t we both put that off until tomorrow? Please?”

“Look,” Myka says, “my follow-through is really not that great.” She seems to be trying for some kind of offhand dismissal of herself, of the situation as a whole. “I mean what if you—what if it doesn’t—because I said some things, and I usually don’t say things like that. I usually think better of it before I say things like that.”

“Forgive me for being selfish, but I hope that’s true, that you usually don’t say things like that.”

“God, no! I don’t run around telling women that I want to do things to them in hotel rooms.” She looks around them. “ _Motel_ rooms.”

“Good to know,” Helena says.

“What is that supposed to mean, ‘good to know’?”

Helena says, and she is _trying_ to tease, “We still don’t know each other very well. For all I know, you might be someone who does this all the time.”

The teasing clearly does not work. “Do I _look_ like someone who would do this all the time?” Myka demands.

Helena does not like Myka’s tone. “I have no idea! I don’t know what someone who does this all the time looks like!”

“Neither do I! For all I know, maybe _you_ do this all the time!”

Now Helena _really_ does not like Myka’s tone. “I certainly do not.”

“Well, how would I know?”

Helena wants to shout that she of course should be able to tell, then realizes that she herself has just said the exact same thing, She tries to calm down, says a reasonably composed, “Point taken.”

Then Myka says, quietly, “Because you’re so beautiful. You _could_ do this all the time. If you wanted to, with whoever you wanted to.”

Helena laughs at that. “Do _you_ never look in a mirror?”

“What?”

“Well, first because your hair is almost always disarranged. But second… if beauty is the topic of discussion? I suspect you need only snap your fingers.”

Myka snorts. “Didn’t so much work on _you_.”

And Helena lifts an incredulous eyebrow. “I’m sorry, when exactly did this finger-snapping occur?”

“Okay, maybe I didn’t exactly snap my fingers, but you didn’t _like_ me.”

“I had no _reason_ to like you. You hated me. And even before you knew me, you tried to steal my cab,” Helena accuses. “You _did_ steal my seats in first class.”

“ _Your_ seats in first class? When did I steal seats from you in first class?”

Helena cannot believe she doesn’t remember. “Both flights!” she prods.

Myka’s puzzlement gives way to apparent incredulity. “Those flights from New York to here? You are delusional. I am not the one who orders the upgrade list.”

“That is not the point!” Helena fumes.

“Exactly. Which is what makes you delusional.”

Myka is so exasperatingly calm about it that Helena spits out, “No. What makes me delusional is that for several days I thought I would _die_ if you didn’t kiss me again.”

“Well obviously you weren’t going to _die_. That’s delusional too.”

Helena is questioning whether this could possibly be the same woman from this morning in the parking garage. “Now I think I will _kill you_ if you _do_ kiss me again.”

Myka mutters, with a sulk in her voice, “Who said I was going to?” Then she gulps out, “Oh god, sad _and_ sexy,” although Helena has once again had no sense of her face changing. Myka leans over and kisses the corner of Helena’s mouth, and that’s all it takes: they get it back, they get it back, whatever magic thing that had sparked between them before sparks again, and Myka is saying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” and then she’s pulling Helena off the bed, and she’s pushing her to the door, saying “I think you’re right, this is where we should start, _please_ let’s start again.”

Helena is not thinking about how her words will sound as she says, “Please tell me we aren’t going to have to have a fight every time we try to do this.” As she hears herself say it, she tenses. Too much implication about the future?

Myka laughs and starts undoing Helena’s shirt. “We’ll just have to keep trying and see,” she says. “We clearly both need a _lot_ of practice.”

“With the fighting? Or with this?” Helena strokes her hands down Myka’s sides, raises one back up to the back of her neck, pulls and holds her mouth an inch away.

“I think it’s that war and politics thing. One of them is the continuation of the other by other means. Or—oh god…”—because Helena has just slipped her other hand between Myka’s legs for the first time—“…it’s the other way around.”

“What’s the other way around?” Helena asks, as innocently as possible.

“I don’t know. I’m not… thinking… clearly.”

They start against the door, and they finish against the door, too, this first time. Then they start and finish in so many other places in the room that Helena loses count by the time they finally sleep.

Helena awakens before Myka, to sunlight streaming through the window. And Helena finds herself, incongruously, thinking back on the night as a series of something like post-it notes:  “Fingertip applied to sternum can make M arch her neck,” “M particularly responsive to tongue on palm of her hand,” “M has sharp hipbones but wonderfully long thighs.” “M does not fake it—M apologizes,” “Do not pull M’s hair under any circumstances,” “M can nearly do full pushup with my body draped across her back.” Helena hopes she will need to keep these post-its, need to remember how she came by this information, for future study and use.

****

“Fingertip applied to sternum can make M arch her neck”

_This is the first real quirk of Myka’s that Helena discovers—they are still against the door, and she is engaged in getting Myka’s shirt off of her, and she happens to rest her fingers against Myka’s sternum, and Myka’s head falls back. She does it again, experimentally, a moment later, and Myka again exposes her neck. “Stop,” Myka says, and “why?” Helena asks. She is nosing and kissing her way all around that neck, and Myka concedes, “good point.”_

“M particularly responsive to tongue on palm of hand”

_Myka is above Helena, has just replaced her hand with her hips so she can brace herself with both hands, but Helena tries to make her shift those hips, just a little, and Myka can’t keep her balance, tumbles over, laughs. She puts a tender hand to Helena’s face when Helena laughs softly too, but when Helena turns her head, kisses Myka’s palm, and adds a brief stroke of her tongue, Myka stops laughing, like a connection has been cut—or a new one created. She moves her hips back into place and pushes hard, then harder, then collapses, her hand now fluttering weakly against Helena’s mouth._

“M has sharp hipbones but wonderfully long thighs”

 _When Myka lies on her back, her hipbones jut out. Her hips are slim, but Helena becomes very much aware that, as she finds herself on top and pushing, she will have two very particularly placed bruises. She whispers this to Myka, who whispers back, “You could just get_ between _my legs.” Helena wants to tell her that that is not the same thing, but she does it anyway. And it turns out that while it is true that it is not the same thing, it is also true that being wrapped in Myka’s long, strong thighs is a very good thing too._

“M does not fake it—M apologizes”

_Helena is equal parts charmed and frustrated by this—both of those because Myka really does seem to believe that it is her fault. She is clearly worried that a lot of things are going to be considered her fault, such that when Helena shudders and lets go, Myka is pleased with herself but also seems relieved, as if she has passed a test she was sure she would fail. When Helena realizes this, it makes her want to show Myka that she doesn’t need to worry, so the next time, she tries a little too hard, wants it a little too much, doesn’t quite get there, and Myka is about to apologize for that, too, so Helena says, “There is no penalty. I am not leaving this bed. In fact, it just means I want to try again.”_

“Do not pull M’s hair under any circumstances”

 _The first time Helena pulls Myka’s hair is truly an accident: her fingers are tangled, Myka says “ow,” Helena says “sorry,” and they move on. The second time, however, Helena is trying to express enthusiasm. Myka stops—just stops—and says “I know some people like that, but I really really don’t.” Helena nods, a little taken aback, and Myka says, apologetically (of course), “Too harsh, huh?” Helena admits that yes, yes it was. “Let me make it up to you,” Myka says, and she starts to kiss her way down Helena’s side, and Helena concludes that if Myka can keep in mind that Helena_ very much enjoys _being kissed at the hip, she herself will have no trouble respecting this hair-related edict._

“M can nearly do full pushup with my body draped across her back”

_“Can you raise your hips?” Helena requests._

_“What do you mean, can I raise my hips? Of course I can raise my hips.”_

_But that doesn’t quite… “Perhaps just a little higher?”_

_“How much access do you_ need _? How short is your arm? God,_ here _!” And Myka pushes herself, and Helena, almost all the way up, holds them there for a brief second, then drops down. “Are you happy now?”_

_“It would have helped if you’d held that for a while longer. Do you do no planking to train for that martial art of yours?”_

_Myka arches her back to throw Helena off, then turns herself over. She is laughing; her eyes are shining. “You’re questioning my_ fitness _?”_

 _“Perhaps a bit more sport-specific work,” Helena says as their lips meet in the kiss that Myka couldn’t_ quite _turn her head around for, before._

****

Helena thinks about information and filing systems and waking up like this more often… perhaps not _quite_ this sore, or _quite_ this tired… although, she realizes, she feels less tired that she had expected to, under the circumstances… something is wrong, she begins to recognize, and then it comes to her: _the sun is up_. And the sun is not merely up; no, it is _high_.

“Myka,” she says as gently as she can. She wants to draw the curtains and pretend, but they have made a mistake, and they should start addressing it now… “Myka,” she says again. “Wake up.”

Myka says “mmm…” and opens her eyes; for a second, she sees only Helena, Helena can tell, because her face stays soft and happy. Then she, too, sees the daylight for what it is: a disaster.

“Oh my god,” she says. “Oh my god, what time is it.”

“According to the room clock, slightly after nine,” Helena tells her.

“Oh my god how did we not think to set an alarm? We needed to leave here by four thirty at the absolute latest! I have to call Claudia! And why wouldn’t she have called me already?”

Myka has flown out of bed, is flinging on her clothes, scrabbling through her bag, pulling out her cell phone… “Oh my god it was on vibrate because of being at dinner! I have… oh my god the messages I have! Dammit, Dwayne already called, and he’ll be calling back soon and I won’t have done the trades yet…”

Dwayne, the Barstow millionaire who dislikes Myka’s ideas.

Myka keeps babbling, “And Claudia three times, and Artie twice—what is _happening_ at that place? What if I actually _were_ still on a client visit?”

“You would have told them about it beforehand,” Helena sighs. She gets out of bed, too, and gathers her own clothes. She makes for the bathroom.

She is as quick as she can be, and when she emerges, Myka is sitting on the edge of the bed. “I am really sorry,” she says.

“Did you call Claudia?” Helena asks. She thinks it is entirely possible that Claudia would have forced Myka to apologize.

“No. I’ll call from the car, because fifteen minutes is not going to make or break anything. Except maybe this. Us. I panicked, and I’m sorry.”

“I told you last night that I want to stop hearing apologies from you,” Helena tells her. “But this one? I’ll accept this one.”

Myka brightens. “Really? Just like that?”

“We’ll call a mulligan,” Helena decides. “See how you do next time.”

That Myka’s response to this is an enthusiastic nod makes Helena very, very happy.

****

In the car, Helena receives a call from Steve. “Hi,” he says when she answers.

“Hello, Steve,” she says back.

“I guess I’ll open with this: where are you?”

“On I-10, just near Pomona. And where are you?”

“Oh, I’m at that office where we’ve been working for a while now. What are you doing in Pomona?”

“I’m not doing anything in Pomona,” Helena tells him. “Why would I be doing anything in Pomona?  I am traveling _past_ Pomona.”

“See, because I called Charles, and he didn’t know where you were.”

“What? Charles knew exactly where I was! I told him last night!”

“Well that was last night, I guess. This morning, he apparently thought maybe you had been home at some point, and then that you had come _here_.” He clears his throat. “Which, speaking of you not being here, would you like the bad news, or the worse news?”

“Lovely options,” Helena sighs.

“I’ll start with the bad: corporate responded to the social media thing.”

She sighs again, “And turned us down.”

“No, they really liked it.”

Helena says, “But that’s good news.”

“Not as far as Artie’s concerned. He is not at all on board, apparently never was, and he wanted both of us in his office, like, the minute he got the word.”

“Also lovely.”

Steve says, “But of course you couldn’t show up in his office, what with being in Pomona.”

“I am not in Pomona.”

“So anyway, that was a bit of a… let’s say it was a problem. Which brings me to the worse news.”

“Oh, good.”

“Is there any chance that a certain someone is in Pomona with you?”

“You mean you can’t hear her? She’s on the phone with Claudia right now!”

“Because she was the next person Artie wanted to see.”

“Oh,” Helena says. And now she is beginning to discern the nature of _worse_.

“And when she couldn’t be found either, there might have been certain… let’s call them ‘deductions.’ Made. About the two of you being… in Pomona.”

“Oh god.”

“And then those deductions might have been… oh, let’s use the word ‘shouted.’ Technically at Claudia, but if there’s a person in this office who is currently unaware that the two of you have been… in Pomona? It’s because they were out sick today. Oops, except nobody was out today. Except the two of you…”

“…in Pomona,” Helena finishes for him. “This _is_ bad.”

“No, you’re not paying _attention_ ,” he says, but he’s chuckling. “Corporate’s response to social media was bad. This is worse.”

“We’ll be there in forty-five minutes, all right? We’ll be there, and I will handle this somehow.” She glances at Myka, lowers her voice. “Make sure Claudia keeps that part of it to herself, will you please? I don’t think she’s mentioned it yet; they’re talking about a client. Hand her a post-it.”

“Okay. But H.G.?”

“What?”

“How was Pomona, anyway?”

“I am hanging up on you. But before I do, I will tell you one thing, because you are the father of my child and you are also quite honestly the best friend I have.” She looks over at Myka, who is saying something to Claudia about trades and not breaking them: suddenly she is Helena’s long-legged taxi companion again, with her irritation-edged voice… but now Helena has put her hands on every lengthy inch of those legs, has heard that voice pant her name. “Pomona was incredible.”

“I’m glad. Quite honestly.” His voice sounds strangely like it used to, before Christina, when they were friends bound by nothing more—and nothing less—than their fondness for each other.

“Thank you,” Helena says, a bit brusquely, because if she becomes any more emotional than the morning has already made her, she will not be able to think her way out of this. “I _am_ hanging up now.”

“I like that you can’t say ‘goodbye’ like normal people do. Also, be advised, I’m handing Claudia that post-it. There might be a reaction, so don’t let a certain someone make any deductions of her own, okay?”

There is a reaction, but it is not the one Helena expects: Myka turns toward her and says, with what sounds like real astonishment, “ _Steve_ is the father of your child?”

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

“ _Steve_ is the father of your child?”

“As far as I know.” Helena says this mildly.

“What does _that_ mean?”

“It means that I am making light of your question.”

“Why are you doing _that_?”

“Because you asked it as if you were acting in a melodrama.” She imitates as well as she can Myka’s shocked tone: “‘ _Steve_ is the father of your child?’ As if Steve were my cousin, or my best friend’s husband.”

She expects Myka to laugh, but instead she says, “He could be both those things!”

“Steve? We are talking about Steve Jinks, are we not? I assure you, we are not related. And if you heard me say he is the father of my child, then you heard me say, further, that _he_ is my best friend. Ergo, he is neither my cousin nor my best friend’s husband.”

“But I still don’t see…he’s the father of your child? How did _that_ happen?”

And now Helena is defensive: “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Because Myka is sounding, to Helena’s ears, far too much like those people who questioned their decision, hers and Steve’s, to embark on parenthood in the first place. She had not wanted to discuss the mechanics of the situation then, and she has no interest in doing so now, either. But then, of course, letting people draw their own conclusions was, and still is, just as bad, in its way…

“I think a lot of things about you just became my business.”

“Why?” Helena demands. “Because of one night in a motel room?”

This quite plainly stings Myka. She says, and it is obviously meant in retaliation, “So how confused _were_ you two, when you were younger?”

“No more confused than average, I expect.” She is trying to keep calm. Her grip on that is failing.

“If the two of _you_ had a kid? That makes me think neither of you had any _idea_ about… certain things. How long did it take you to figure it out?”

“Figure it out?” Helena wonders how Myka can possibly be so unimaginative, if she can really think there is only one way to have a child… she is as upset at the idea that she and Steve were confused enough to sleep with each other as she is, contradictorily, at the idea that Myka is assuming that she and Steve _should not_ have slept with each other. “Stop making assumptions!” she goes on.

“Making assumptions? I’m sorry, but I’ve been _assuming_ that was you in that motel room last night. And I’ve been _assuming_ that you enjoyed what we spent the night doing in that motel room.”

“That wasn’t what I meant. And in any case, you don’t know the first thing about Steve, or my relationship with him, or our child, or even, come to that, about _me_. ” Helena says. That last is a ridiculous thing to say, she knows, precisely because of what they spent the night doing, but Helena is just… angry, and now Myka’s given her an excuse to feel it. She’s still angry about how they woke up this morning; she doesn’t like that she, too, was stupid about setting an alarm, she doesn’t like that Myka reacted the way she did, she doesn’t like what they’re going to walk into at Warehouse Finance. This whole thing has been a bad idea, she thinks now, regardless of how much she enjoyed what they spent the night doing. Disregarding that is exceptionally difficult, but she wants to now; Myka does not know her at all, does not want to; all they have done is spend one night together. Assumptions, about Steve and about herself, and what they did or didn’t do, and how confused they were or were not, and god knows what she is assuming about Christina, and Charles, and everything else that is important to Helena…

But then Myka says, “I’m sorry.”

Helena is not ready to give up her temper—more than that, she feels that she is _entitled_ to it. Myka had no right, no right at all to say what she said. Also, and this is irrational, because Myka _does_ owe her an apology for all these assumptions, but she has _told_ Myka she is tired of hearing apologies, and yet here she is, doing it again. And yet another irrational thought: if they could just have stayed in bed, none of this would be happening. Yes, irrational, because the very last thing she wants is to be in bed with Myka Bering right now. But it is also the thing she _most_ wants.

Myka goes on, “I don’t know why I say such stupid things to you.”

Helena starts to say, continuing her sulk, “I don’t either.” But then she stops, because there was something about the tone in Myka’s voice, some kind of resignation there that Helena doesn’t like.

“Whatever you and Steve have been to each other, that’s not my business. Only if you’re… look, I know you told Ed and Lillian last night that you don’t have a husband, but I didn’t ask you directly, before, about anything like that, or even about… I don’t know. Your _life_. I should have.”

“I didn’t ask you either,” Helena has to concede. “Whatever was happening between us… that was the only thing I cared about.”

“Me too.” She stares at the highway, doesn’t glance at Helena. “You said _was_ happening. Is it not happening anymore?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I think…” She sighs. “I think I’m going to be honest: I think I might die if it isn’t happening, for you, anymore, because it’s still happening for me. In spite of the fact that I’m talking like… But I also think that what we were saying before, way back before we overslept and everything turned into whatever it’s turned into, I think that’s what should be happening.”

“I barely remember what we were saying before.”

“Something about needing practice,” Myka says, and now she does look over. “Clearly I need practice if I’m going to say things to you that aren’t awful.”

Helena is not quite all the way there, but she says, “We may have some communication issues.”

“We may,” Myka says. “Okay, here, let’s try something normal. What’s your middle name?”

Yes, Helena thinks, this will make things very normal. “George,” she admits, and braces herself.

“ _George_ is your middle name?” But Myka says this in the exact same tone she used for her question about Steve… and she is, Helena can feel, reproducing it both to be funny, here in this moment, and to make fun of herself for using it before. It succeeds in making Helena smile.

When, a few moments later, Helena herself tries it with the question “ _Ophelia_ is your middle name?”, Myka laughs. And Helena laughs too.

****

When they are in the parking garage, she kisses Myka, because Myka calls her “baby.” It is clear enough to her that Myka very rarely calls anyone “baby.”

They had pulled into Myka’s parking space; Myka turned off the car. Neither moved to open a door. “Couldn’t we just…” Myka said, leaning her head against the seatback and turning her face to Helena.

Helena felt herself preparing, involuntarily, to cry from frustration: at Myka, at herself, at the entire state of affairs. And this time she knew that what she felt was visible in her expression, because Myka said, with a tenderness that genuinely surprised her, “Oh, Helena. Oh, baby.”

And that was all it had taken. Helena was tempted to grab one of Myka’s hands and touch her tongue to it, to make it impossible for them to leave the car, but she settled for a kiss, one that began simply but became complex, one that went on longer than it should, but not nearly long enough.

****

Upstairs, Claudia greets them with post-its, which she sticks to their chests like nametags. Helena’s is pink and reads “Busted.” Myka’s is red. It identifies her as “Super-busted.”

“Artie’s been yelling at New York for almost an hour,” Claudia tells them.

“ _All_ of New York?” Helena asks.

Claudia cocks her head at the noise coming from Artie’s office. “Far as I can tell.”

“Great,” Myka says.

“And you’re next, Super-busted.”

“Even better.”

“Can I tell her now?” Claudia asks Helena. “Steve said I wasn’t supposed to, before, and I didn’t, so can I tell her? As a reward?”

Helena says, “Yes. That makes perfect sense. As a reward for not telling her, you may tell her.”

Claudia turns to Myka. “Ooooh, Myka. Guess what?”

“I am super-busted,” Myka says.

“Right. But do you know what you’re super-busted _for_?”

“Being late without calling in? Because that’s fair, for him to be mad at me for that. Did you get the paperwork ready for Ed and Lillian, by the way, so I can get that in the mail?”

“Of course I did. And you are super-busted because of _why_ you were late without calling in.”

Myka, clearly startled, looks at Helena. “How does Artie know?”

Helena says, “Steve told me he made assumptions when he could find neither of us.”

Claudia pipes up, “Obviously he doesn’t know _exactly_ what you were doing. Because that is totally your business, but I should probably warn you that he’s most likely going to _ask_ exactly what you were doing, Myka. But you do not have to tell him. I’m pretty sure. Unless there’s something in the employee handbook that says you have to, but you’d know that better than I would.”

Helena says, “I don’t care what your handbook says. If Myka tells Artie exactly what we were doing, I can assure Myka that we will never do anything like it again.”

“Sold,” Myka says. She sighs. “I’m not going to tell him anything, because it doesn’t have anything to do with him. All I’m going to do is apologize for being late.”

They all hear “MYKA!” roared from Artie’s office.

“And apparently I’m going to do that right now. Wish me luck,” Myka says.

“Good luck,” Helena tells her. She smiles, a little, but she can’t quite determine Myka’s attitude. She’d expected her to be upset; instead Myka is almost phlegmatic. The contrast with the panicked dervish in the motel room could not be more acute.

“It’s okay,” Myka says. She leans over and kisses Helena’s cheek. “It took me a while to process the situation, but I really, truly don’t regret it. I just regret the idiot things I said to you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Helena says. And to show her that it is, she kisses Myka’s cheek in return.

Once she’s in the office, Claudia beams at Helena. “You two are the sweetest thing I have ever seen.”

“It’s fortunate that you weren’t in the car with us this morning,” Helena says. “That picture would certainly have been spoiled.”

“In the car,” Claudia says; she starts giggling. “Steve told me all about Pomona. And aw, did you have a fight? I’d say ‘your first fight,’ but you guys have had so many fights that my tally stretches over two post-its already. Are you going to be one of those couples who fight just to keep things interesting?”

That is disconcertingly on the nose, of course, and Helena winces. “I don’t know that we’re going to be a couple of any sort.”

“H.G.,” Claudia says. “Sweet, kind of cranky H.G. Here is some info that might be useful for you to have: Myka just kissed you, in public.”

“Thank you, Claudia, but I was right here when it happened.”

Claudia continues, unfazed. “…in public, where anybody in the entire world could have seen her do it, and particularly, where _I_ sat here and _watched_ her do it. And then she let _you_ kiss _her_. That has never happened in all of history. In the entire history of history, Myka has never publicly displayed affection. I’m not sure she has ever publicly displayed anything more than a handshake, and even those, you sort of get the feeling she would rather be giving a light fist-bump. While wearing a surgical glove. Which leads me to just one conclusion.” She stops speaking, leans back.

Helena is fairly certain she will not be spared the conclusion, and indeed, the pause was apparently for drama alone, because Claudia says, “Pomona must be pretty hot this time of year.”

****

Helena spends the remainder of the day with Steve, and on the telephone with Caturanga, trying to determine what course to take now. She works hard at avoiding Artie entirely, on the recommendation of both Claudia and Steve, and thus she does not manage to see Myka, even in passing, until much later in the day. Helena takes care to ensure that Artie has left, and then she ventures to knock on Myka’s door.

When Myka answers the door, she smiles. She smiles hugely and, in contravention of her usual maneuver, pulls Helena to her desk. She sits on the desk and tugs Helena to stand in her embrace, between her legs. It is, strangely, even more intimate than being pushed against the door.

“Are you in a great deal of trouble?” she asks Myka. “Or as Claudia would most likely prefer I ask, are you indeed super-busted?”

“Well, my also-busted friend—or as Artie would most likely prefer I call you, someone I never intend to see again—I don’t actually care,” Myka says. “He says I’m letting myself be distracted.”

“And are you?”

“Let’s see… I’m in my office at four-thirty in the afternoon on a Thursday, and what am I doing?”

Before Helena can answer, she is being kissed, slowly and deeply. As the kiss ends, she says, “At four-thirty in the afternoon on a Thursday, what are you doing? I’m fairly certain you were just kissing me.”

“Right. And I’m thinking about only two things.”

“ _Two_ things?”

“First, how extremely well you kiss. But second, how it’s that much better when you aren’t wearing any clothes. So I’m going to go with yes, I’m letting myself be distracted.”

Myka is sitting on her desk, Helena is standing between her legs, and they are just about as close, physically, as they can possibly be. “I feel like a teenager,” Helena says, and she does not know if she is admitting it sheepishly or reveling in it. The length of the day has been torture, which she would not have thought possible after the tensions of the morning’s drive.

“Sneaking around, getting lectured by Dad… there’s a lot of similarity. I never smoked cigarettes in the girls’ bathroom—or did much of anything, really—but I’m betting that wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun as this is.”

They kiss more, and more, and more. Helena distinctly, or actually a bit indistinctly at this particular moment, remembers Steve reminding her that she is _not_ a teenager. She is fairly certain he would extend that to recommending that she not act like one… but…

Myka says, “Just to stay with the analogy: I’ll ditch my training session tonight if you’ll come home with me right now.”

Helena is internally scandalized by how tempting she finds that idea, how charmed she is by its expression, and how dramatically her body responds to it. “I wish I could. You have no idea how much I wish I could, but I haven’t seen my daughter in two days. She’ll have forgotten what I look like.”

“I don’t see how anybody could forget what you look like,” Myka says, and she is gazing at Helena.

Helena melts again. “See?”

“See what?”

“You’re actually quite good at saying things to me that aren’t awful. Some things you say are extremely… seductive.”

“Seductive,” Myka says, and kisses her, a brief peck. “Really.” She does it again. “Then why aren’t we on our way to my apartment right now?”

“I _told_ you,” Helena says, with difficulty. “I have to see my child. More than that, I actually do want to see my child.”

“You could see your child _afterwards_. We wouldn’t have to take too long,” Myka coaxes.

Helena leans back a bit, raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure how I feel about that particular argument. I would like to take more than, say, twenty minutes, which is the absolute maximum time before I must leave, if I’m to get home in time for dinner.”

“Twenty minutes? What crazy early time do you eat dinner?”

“That isn’t the issue. It’s a long drive.”

“Where in the world do you live?”

Helena clears her throat. “Encino.”

“You live in _Encino_? You are joking. No one actually lives in Encino.”

“They do if they have a child and can afford to.”

“You know, you were right, in the car: I don’t know the first thing about you.”

“I don’t know where _you_ live, either,” Helena says.

“Let me take you there and you’ll find out.”

“Stop.”

“Really?”

“Yes, for now. “

“Fine. Be the mature one.”

“You know,” Helena says, completely on impulse, “you could ditch your training anyway, and come to Encino with me. Have dinner with me and Charles and Christina. And possibly Steve.”

“Oh,” Myka says. And, “Uh.” And, “Wow, I don’t think…”

Helena is completely deflated.

Myka leans back and crosses her arms. “No,” she says, “I am not falling for sad and sexy this time. No, listen, the thing is, I am really not good with children. Me and a child, that’s… that’s going to go wrong.”

This objection is completely surmountable, Helena is sure. She says, “Well, it’s Christina. She’s not so much a _child_ as… an ongoing human resources challenge.”

Myka laughs at that, but then she says, very clearly, very flatly, “No.”

And the subject is closed.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

A week has passed. Artie has agreed that as long as Helena and Steve do not _distract_ his FAs, he will tolerate the two of them until corporate tells him the project is off, a piece of news he expects to receive any day now. “What project? We haven’t actually done anything yet!” Helena had tried to protest, but Artie cut her off with, “You’ve done quite enough.”

So Helena has spent her time mostly in the conference room, herself quite distracted, trying to come up with something persuasive to tell Artie that will make him see the value of Chessboard’s work, and trying to come up with something persuasive to tell Myka that will make _her_ see the value of actually talking to Helena again. In her entire life, she feels, she has never been so ineffectual, so thick-headed, so unable to think her way through any problem.

The Myka problem is worse, she feels, because she should simply, as Steve said weeks ago, forget it and move on. After all, what have they done, really, that was at all positive? Spent one spectacular night together; other that that, it was furtive teenage necking and making eyes at each other in meetings. Preceded and followed by arguments and frosty silence. Not the basis for any kind of long-term relationship, and in fact their tendency to say exactly the wrong thing to each other has seemed to indicate that there would be very little potential for that anyway.

What sort of person refuses to meet a child, anyway? What sort of person responds so poorly to the very idea of meeting a child? What sort of person then completely avoids the person who wanted her to meet that child?

The sort of person who wants nothing to do with someone who has a child, Helena has tried to tell herself quite firmly. And that is not at all an unusual sort of person; Helena has met many, many other people who feel the same way.

So why, she at that point habitually asks herself, can you not forget it and move on?

And then she starts again: surely she can come up with something persuasive to say. Assuming Myka will ever stop avoiding her long enough to let her say it.

She is chasing her tail in precisely this way when Steve, Liam, and Pete burst into the conference room together. Helena eyes them warily.

Pete says, “Hey, H.G., you seem kinda down. You want a mini-Snickers?” He holds out a candy bar, as if it were some sort of animal chow and she the inhabitant of a petting zoo. “I’ve got a tiny Mr. Goodbar too, I think.” He drops the Snickers on the table and starts scrabbling in his pants pocket.

Liam adds, “Or some sugarless gum? If that’s more your thing?”

Helena sighs. “Christina read of a study establishing that chewing gum helps one think.”

“It’s true,” Steve tells Pete and Liam. “She couldn’t stand gum before, but now her teacher keeps sending home notes about having to make her spit it out.”

Helena says, “Is there some reason you three are in here? Right now, I mean, offering candy and gum?”

Pete reaches over—his wingspan is quite long—and pats her head. “You’ve just been so gloomy, H.G. We want to cheer you up. I said candy, because of course, and Liam was like ‘I’m bringing gum’ and I said go for it, man, because maybe she’s like Myka and does that crazy sugar denial thing, but nobody in their right mind turns down a mini-Snickers.”

“I am in no way like Myka,” Helena says. She reaches for the Snickers.

Steve says, “I guess you could settle for that. Unless… I don’t know, guys, should we try my idea?”

Pete gives an exaggerated shrug. “Yeah, okay. I guess you know her better than we do.”

Liam shrugs too. “If you think she’ll be into that kind of thing.”

“If you all do not stop it,” Helena says, “I will launch this mini-Snickers at someone.”

“I would almost pay money to see that,” Steve says. “But okay. Here’s what I’ve got for you: some good news.”

“And what’s that?”

“I think Liam should actually do the honors; he’s the one who told me.”

Liam smiles at Steve. Steve smiles back. Helena has to concede that they are quite adorable. Their dimples almost match.

Pete blurts, “Artie’s gonna be gone next week!”

Both Liam and Steve cross their arms and shake their heads.

Helena says, “While that’s certainly pleasant news from a personal perspective, I really don’t see how—”

“Doesn’t that look like an opportunity to you?” Steve says.

“An opportunity for what, exactly?”

Pete says, “Well, first, for you and Myka to make your goo-goo eyes at each other.”

“We are not doing that. We are not doing that ever again.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “We can table that. But second, the opportunity is for us to start putting some things into practice.”

“Behind his back? Are you suicidal?”

“It was my mom’s idea,” Pete says helpfully.

“Is _she_ suicidal?”

Liam says, “No, see, we think that if you guys can show some actual progress—”

“In a _week_? You’re not suicidal after all; you are insane.”

Steve says, “Hear me out, okay? One of Artie’s big concerns is that he won’t be able to keep track of everything. So what I’ve been working on for a while now is a little aggregator. Just, say, tweets and maybe LinkedIn posts from the FAs at first, just a test run, but if we can get it going, it’ll show him that he can see if anybody’s wandering off the reservation.”

“To Pomona?” Helena asks ruefully.

Pete says, “Not unless Myka tweets about it, and Myka’s never going to tweet about anything, except maybe _you_ could talk her into it, H.G. But then I guess if the Pomona thing happens again, you’d be in even more trouble, so maybe never mind? You guys have a really confusing relationship.”

“Anyway,” Steve says, “I was just sort of messing around with it before, but H.G., if you give me a hand, I think we can get it together by next Tuesday?”

“And have only three or four days’ worth of data?” Helena asks.

Liam says, “Steve made a really good case; he said any more than that, Artie’s overwhelmed, but much less, and he doesn’t see anything at all. So it’s perfect!” The look he gives Steve suggests that it’s actually Steve who he thinks is perfect, and Helena is jealous of them again. Not mightily, just… sadly.

“All right,” she says. “I don’t see how it could make things worse.”

All three men high-five each other, then turn to Helena with their hands raised. “Oh no,” she says. “I refuse to participate in your palm-slapping ritual.” So Pete reaches over and pats her head again. Liam, with a shy little smile, follows suit, and Steve reaches over too. “Do you want your hand to remain in one piece?” Helena asks him.

He laughs, leans down, and kisses her cheek. “Everything’s going to be fine. I’ll send you my files, and you can tell me what I’m doing wrong, okay?”

“Rest assured, I will,” Helena says. She does not say that the idea of doing something genuinely productive is making her feel extremely hopeful. About several things.

****

The weekend is strange.

As Helena is telling Christina goodnight on Saturday night, Christina says, “There’s something I don’t know what to think about.”

“Should I sit down?” Helena asks. “Is it a lengthy something?”

“You’re pretty old, Mom. You get tired easily. So yeah, sit down.”

Helena stays on her feet.

“Dad Steve wants me to meet somebody.”

“Does he?”

“A guy named Liam.”

Helena sighs. “Would you refer to him as a man or a gentleman, please?”

“Fine,” Christina says. “A man or a gentleman named Liam.”

“Clever,” Helena says. She sits down, puts her arm around her daughter.

“Do you know him?”

“Yes, I know Liam.”

“Do you like him?”

“I like him fine. But the important thing is that Steve likes him. Steve likes him very much.”

Christina is quiet for a moment. “So will I like him?”

“I can’t predict that. But I hope you will.” She smiles and kisses Christina’s hair. “I suspect he would give you sugarless gum, if you ask nicely. And you could tell him about the study.”

“He won’t think that’s too weird?”

“First, it is in no way weird. But second, do you honestly think Steve would like someone who would think it’s weird?”

“I guess not,” Christina concedes. But she says it in a voice that is a bit subdued, for her, and she nestles herself close to Helena’s side.

****

On Sunday afternoon, Helena and Steve are at Helena’s kitchen table, working. Charles and Christina are playing badminton extremely poorly in the backyard; their shrieks of joy and despair are quite audible, even through the closed window. Helena has been thinking of Steve and Liam, of Christina being introduced to Liam, since last night. She has tried not to let these thoughts lead her where they want to. She has been unsuccessful in those attempts.

Helena asks Steve, “Why are you preempting me?”

“Okay…” he says, raising his eyes from his laptop screen. “Preempting you how?”

“Telling Christina that you want her to meet Liam.”

“ _You_ wanted to be the one to tell Christina that I want her to meet Liam?”

Helena pushes her hands into her hair. “Of course not. But what if I…”

“Oh, I see. What if you wanted her to meet somebody too.”

“I suppose. Yes,” Helena admits. “I already nearly did, without even warning Christina about it first. I was so… but then Myka made it clear that she doesn’t like children. She wants nothing to do with a child. Or, apparently, with me, since I dared to suggest that I wanted her to have something to do with a child.”

Steve frowns. “You know, you really should have told me that that’s what the problem’s been. I thought you two were just having some cute little tiff. I didn’t get that it was a real problem.”

“It is a real problem. And I don’t know what to do about it, but now here you are, you with Liam, and I am as you know pleased beyond measure on your behalf, but what am I to do?”

“I guess the ‘forget it and move on’ ship has sailed.”

“Sailed. Sunk.”

“I won’t tell you what to do.”

“Won’t you?” Helena does not like to be told what to do, of course. But perhaps if Steve had some _ideas_ …

“No. But what I will tell you is what you already know: Christina isn’t anybody’s idea of a child.”

“I do know that.”

“So I think this is really just a hurdle. You just have to get them in the same room. I’d say that we should take Christina down to Warehouse, but Myka seems like the type who probably wouldn’t react well to being ambushed like that.”

“I suspect not.”

“I think you’re going to have to get Myka to agree to meet her.”

“But how? She won’t even talk to me!”

“Well,” Steve says, “you could try something other than talking. I’ve heard you two are kind of good at that.”

“When _did_ you and Claudia get to be such good friends?”

“Dunno. Just kind of happened. I think I laughed at the right time when she was telling me about her bird.”

“The one that shrieked and fell over and died?”

“No, the one that liked to eat burritos.” Steve tilts his head, thinks it over. “Although I guess it could be the same bird.”

“Perhaps that’s why it shrieked and fell over and died,” Helena says. “In any case, it’s probably a moot point. I wouldn’t want to throw too much at Christina at once, and given you and Liam—”

“At that kid? Sometimes I think we could throw a chainsaw and five flaming torches at her and she’d be yelling ‘but where’s the Chihuahua, because I read a study about how audiences love to see dogs juggled!’”

“I don’t think that’s what she’d be yelling if we threw a chainsaw and five flaming torches at her.”

Steve laughs. “True. It’d be words about trajectories and momentum and god knows what else. I’m never sure what she knows and doesn’t know, anymore.”

“I’ve taken to assuming she knows everything, until I find a gap that needs filling.”

“Well, there you go,” Steve says.

“There I go?”

“It’s a gap that needs filling.”

“What is?”

“Her not knowing about Myka. I think she needs to know about Myka. Even if nothing happens, I think she needs to know.”

Helena listens to her daughter yelling in the backyard—not about trajectories or momentum or Chihuahuas, but about how Charles would lose less often if he paid attention to strategy. “You need a game plan!” she shouts at him.

****

“I have a game plan,” she confides to Steve. It is early Monday morning, and Artie is indeed gone, and not an hour later: “She has a _game plan_?” she hears Claudia squeal to Steve.

“If you would both _please_ ,” she implores them.

Claudia hands her a post-it that reads, “I <3 the game plan whatever it is,” and Helena tells her, “I would not be so hasty with hearting things,” and Claudia responds, “That is very funny advice, coming from you,” and Helena has to concede that she has a point.

Nevertheless, Helena is the one with the plan, and she begins to put her plan into something like action: she walks past Myka’s office as often as she can.

“Uh, H.G.?” Claudia eventually says.

“What?”

“You know she’s out today, right?”

Helena sighs. “You need to tell me these things up front, Claudia. If any game plan is to work, I need to be _kept informed_.”

“Roger.” She scribbles on a post-it.

Helena knows she is writing “keep HG informed,” so she says, “Were you not supposed to be giving me all information regarding Myka in any case?”

Claudia looks stricken. “I thought we canceled that, once you guys… you know… went to Pomona.”

Helena tries to look severe as she says, “We have not been to Pomona in quite some time. In fact not since we initially went to Pomona.”

“Oh,” Claudia says. Then, “Oh! I thought you were both just playing it really really cool. But, so, hence the game plan, I guess.”

“Hence the game plan,” Helena agrees. “Now, will she be in at the regular time tomorrow?”

“Well, supposedly, but you remember what happened the last time she went on a client visit… whoops, sorry, not funny, I get that. Nobody’s with her, H.G., I swear.”

“Good,” Helena says. “Now, make sure that she is in this office first thing tomorrow. When she arrives, I want an immediate call, is that clear?”

“Wow,” Claudia says. “And then it was back to the power moves.”

“And this time they are going to work,” Helena assures her.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

At 5:12 AM, Helena gets her call from Claudia. She has been at Warehouse Finance since 4:45, and she is fairly certain that her death from sleep deprivation is imminent. Yes, she will die from sleep deprivation, or Charles will kill her, as he keeps threatening to do. Either way, her remaining time on the earth is limited, so she might as well initiate the plan.

She walks past Claudia, who gives her more gang, or possibly spy, signals. She nods decisively, turns toward Myka’s door, and opens it, with no knock, no warning of any kind.

Myka is standing behind her desk, looking through papers in her bag, preoccupied. Helena walks toward her, around the desk, and Myka finally looks up, at almost the very last second. All she can do is say “Huh?” before Helena pushes her down into her chair, leans down over her (with a heart thudding not beats but crashes; she is afraid she might have a heart attack, or that Myka will request earplugs), and kisses her.

The kiss is meant to affect Myka, meant to show her exactly what she has given up, but Helena cannot bring herself to break it, not as neatly and decisively as she had planned. “Plan? What plan?” her body is saying, and she is perilously close to agreeing with it that plans are pointless abstractions perpetuated by fools who are not fortunate enough to be kissing an extremely desirable woman as she sinks deeper into her office chair…

But no. No, she does not want to kiss Myka in an office chair… well, of course she _does_ want to kiss Myka in an office chair, but if she wants to do that as part of any sort of longer-term arrangement, she must _stick to the plan_. So she writes her clearly very hungry body a mental IOU, and she pushes up and away from Myka, whose arms had already begun to pull her closer, whose mouth was remembering just what to do to create even more heat between them… Helena pushes up and away, and she walks out of the office.

Claudia whispers to her, “You look dazed. Is that good? Is that part of the plan?”

“We’ll see in a minute,” Helena whispers back. She ducks around the hallway corner and waits.

It takes a full five seconds before Myka’s office door opens and Myka yells “Hey!”, presumably from the doorway.

Claudia says, with all nonchalance, “Hey what, boss?”

“Hey… nothing.”

“Okay. You feeling all right? You look a little, I don’t know, _dazed_. You tired?”

“I might be hallucinating.”

“That sounds serious.”

“It feels… hallucinatory.”

“Okay. Hey, H.G.,” Claudia greets Helena, who is now emerging from around the corner, just as nonchalantly.

“Hello, Claudia. Oh, hello, Myka. Welcome back. Was your client visit successful?”

Now Myka’s mouth is hanging open. “What are you _doing_?” she demands.

“I’m making sure that both you and Claudia are aware of the meeting this afternoon at two-thirty. Steve and I will be talking about what your corporate office approved regarding social media and how we’d like to begin putting that into practice.”

“Got it,” Claudia says. “Two-thirty.”

“Excellent,” Helena tells her. “Well then. I’ll just be working on making sure the aggregator’s prepared. Claudia, Steve said he was quite impressed with you yesterday. You asked all the right questions about it, he said.”

Claudia’s smile is brilliant.

Myka asks, with a suspicious tone, “Are you trying to steal Claudia from me?”

“Heavens no,” Helena says. “If I want something from you, I will march right into your office and take it directly.”

Myka looks at both of them. She abruptly turns and goes back into her office, slamming the door.

“H.G., that was _smooth_ as _silk_. That was _super_ _fly_ ,” Claudia says.

“Thank you so much.”

“Even if that is the end of your plan? Worth it. Greatest show on earth, her face when she opened that door.”

“It is not the end of my plan. Although the rest may require a bit of improvisation, depending on what she does next.”

“Are you calling an audible? Omaha, Omaha!”

“Not you too. I get sufficient football from Christina and Steve, thank you.”

“I will bet you five dollars that what she’s doing right now is sitting there trying to figure out what you’re up to, Peyton. I bet you another five that this is gonna be a light trading day.”

On that point, Claudia is wrong; she calls Helena after a bit and tells her that she will produce the wagered dollars if Helena is willing to wait until payday, because Myka was doing “pretty impressivo business, particularly for a day when everything on my screen, and I’m assuming everybody else’s, is red.” But after a few hours have elapsed, Helena comes to understand why Myka has done such tremendous business: she wanted to be able to spare the time to confront Helena. For Claudia calls again and says, “She wants to see you.”

“Fine,” Helena says. “Tell her that if she is so interested in seeing me, she can come here.”

“Omaha, Omaha!” Claudia says. “Stay cool in the pocket, H.G.”

Helena hopes that she can in fact keep her cool. It would not do to blunder now.

****

Myka, for her part, has apparently decided to go with “as straightforward as possible” for her attitude.

“Okay,” she says as she’s walking into the conference room, as if they had somehow been interrupted in mid-conversation at some earlier point, “I’m sure gaslighting me this morning was fun, but if you could just tell me what you want—”

“What I want?” Helena asks. “What makes you think I want anything?” She pulls her hand through her hair, very deliberately, then shakes her head so that the glossy waves fall back into place. Because while Myka did not like Helena’s fingers in _her_ hair, she had seemed extremely pleased to weave her own fingers into Helena’s.

Myka is, as intended, now completely distracted. “You clearly want something…”

“What could I possibly want from you?”

Befuddled, distracted Myka gives a small growl-squeak of something that is probably frustration. “That damn motel!” she says.

“What could I possibly want from you _anymore_?” Helena tries to remind herself to remain extremely cool in the pocket.

As if Helena had not spoken, Myka goes on, “Because if it were just that, you would have kept on, this morning; in fact if it were just that, you wouldn’t have broken up with me at all—”

“Myka, I did not break up with you. You made it clear that you had no interest in my child, and when I suggested that she was most likely going to be part of—”

“Exactly! That was you breaking up with me!”

“Fine. We’ll call it that. And then you decided you wanted nothing more to do with me.”

“Yeah, I did decide that. I didn’t want to be _reminded_.”

“Of?”

“Of _this_! Because god, if I start thinking about you, and thinking about _this_ , then I… wait a minute.”

“All right,” Helena says, with what she hopes is great exterior calm. She wonders how obvious it would be for her to begin doing some of Steve’s mindful-breathing exercises.

“Wait a minute. You _want_ me to think about this! Why do you want me to think about this?”

Helena sits back in her chair, but she holds Myka’s gaze. Myka moves closer. Then she jumps, as if Helena’s look is made of electricity.

“What _is_ it about you?” she demands.

“I don’t know,” Helena answers honestly. “What is it about _you_?”

“There are a lot of other fish in the sea, you know.”

“Really?”

“Let me rephrase: there are a lot of other fish in the sea who aren’t _extortionists_ , because they don’t have kids and don’t need to extort anybody into meeting them. And when I say ‘anybody,’ I mean me. How did I get cast in this weird twisted version of _Lysistrata_?”

“This is not a weird twisted version of _Lysistrata_.” Though Helena is now thinking that the reference is quite apt, if slightly backwards.

“Really? What exactly is it that you’re reminding me I’m not getting, if I don’t meet your kid?”

“Nothing in particular. That I know of.” Do not, Helena tells herself savagely, under any circumstances _lose your nerve_.

“You are a piece of work. A piece of extortionist work.”

“You’re the one making inferences about my intentions.”

“I told you no!”

“And that was very clearly the end of it. I wouldn’t make you do anything against your will.”

“Yes you would! And do you know how I know? Because you _are_!”

“Myka, you are perfectly free to continue saying no.”

“No I’m not!”

“Just because I’ve disincentivized it—or rather, pointed out the disincentive—doesn’t mean you aren’t free to continue.”

Myka drops her long body into a chair, almost exactly as Steve might have done, with a sense of being too exhausted to hold up such a tall self a single moment longer. She is as far away from Helena—across and down the long table, which seats at least sixteen—as she could possibly be. “I don’t even like you,” she complains.

Helena steeples her fingers in front of her face. “Or is it more accurate to say that I’ve made you aware that you have an incentive to agree?”

“Why are you _doing_ this to me?”

“I would think it would be obvious,” Helena says. She stands as casually as possible, as if she were going to pace the length of the room. Instead she rounds the corner of the table, toward Myka.

Myka says, “Nothing about you is obvious.” But she sounds far less overwhelmed, and even less annoyed, than she had just a few seconds ago. She stands too. She stretches her neck, sighs, and paces in Helena’s direction.

They stop when they are facing each other, when with one more step they would collide. Myka says, “Not even this,” but then, unlike early this morning, she is the one who leans over and does the kissing. Now both their bodies strain toward each other, and now Helena’s arms are so close to being irresistibly tempted to move and encircle and pull… but Myka pulls back. She says, as if truly puzzled by their kiss (Helena is not puzzled at all, not by that), “I really would’ve thought you were above this kind of thing.”

And here is the puzzlement: Helena wants to say something like “I do not know what I am and am not above when it comes to you.” But no, she does know, and she wants to tell Myka that Christina is the only thing that puts Helena above _anything_ that has to do with Myka and what she might or might not ask or want or demand of Helena. She wants to repeat “What is it about _you_?” and have Myka tell her the real answer, so she can either accept it as quickly as possible or craft some hateful, self-protective new strategy, one for rejecting it. She wants to say all of these things, but instead, she says “shut up” and pulls Myka back to her, draws her so close that they can barely figure out where their feet ought to go, kisses her in ways that she hopes, hopes, hopes will remind her of exactly how things were in that damn motel room.

Myka at last says, into Helena’s hair, “Fine. You win. Don’t gloat.”

“Come to my house for dinner, as you refused to before,” Helena says.

“That sounds a lot like gloating, so: no, I still refuse to go to Encino. You can come to my place.”

“Really?” Helena is genuinely surprised. “I’ve heard you won’t even let Pete into your precious space, but an active nine-year-old is acceptable?”

“I might actively hate you,” Myka says.

“Really?” Helena kisses her again.

The kiss makes Myka sigh, “Okay, she can’t possibly be worse than Pete. About breaking things, I mean.” She sighs again. “Could we wait till the weekend, at least? I have really got a week, what with being out yesterday, and I need to be covering for Artie, and—”

“Of course we can wait until the weekend. I think that’s easier for everyone.”

“Seven-thirty Saturday, okay? And does she eat normal things?”

“She generally eats everything. She’s practically a teenage boy in that regard. Can we make it a little earlier?”

“My god you are impossible,” Myka groans. “Why?”

“Because we have to drive back to Encino afterwards,” Helena reminds her.

Myka just rolls her eyes. “Do you turn into a pumpkin?”

“No, but as mentioned, my daughter is _nine_. She has a _bedtime_.”

“Poor kid. I knew you were a mom, but I had no idea you were such a… _mom_.”

They scowl at each other. Then Helena says, “You did know I was a mother. You knew. And yet you still… the motel…”

“Yes. I was ignoring it.”

“Why?”

“Are you seriously asking me that? You’ll understand why that makes _me_ feel like I need to ask _you_ if you were actually in that motel room with me.”

Helena says, “Do you hate children so very much?” She is ready, almost, to tell Myka that the plan, the entire plan, is off, that it was foolish to begin with, because Christina is an unusual child, yes, but she _is_ still a child…

“I don’t hate children,” Myka says. “But… it’s like dogs. Don’t get offended.”

“I’ll wait and hear what you have to say. Then I’ll get offended.”

Myka nods and says, “That’s fair.”

“So how is it, as you say, like dogs?”

“I have this life, okay? I have this life, and I like it a lot, and it makes a lot of sense, and I have worked very hard for it. And I don’t want a dog, because a dog runs around with dirty paws, and you have to walk it and worry about it. I don’t want a cat or houseplants, either.”

“So a child would be too upsetting to your routine.”

“Basically.”

“And _I’m_ not upsetting to your routine?”

“Completely.”

“But that was all right.”

“I thought it was temporary!”

“You thought it was temporary.” Helena does not want to get upset, because of course Myka thought it was temporary. Of course she did. Helena is a consultant; she will be gone soon; they will no longer be thrown together on a daily basis. The motel room might be repeated, but not in perpetuity. Myka is not wrong, Helena tells herself. She is not wrong. “But then I don’t understand why meeting my child could not simply have been part of that temporary upset to your routine.”

They have been standing in each other’s arms throughout this exchange, but this makes Myka move away from the embrace. “You start meeting kids, and then suddenly you find yourself at soccer games. And I am not doing that.”

Helena hears the unspoken “again” at the end of that sentence. She says, “I’m going to guess you’re speaking from experience of some sort.”

“Maybe,” Myka allows.

“Experience that you did not enjoy.”

“It wasn’t that. It was… it was expectations.”

“Expectations.”

“I deal with expectations all the time, about goals and returns and just keeping money safe, and I didn’t want to add anybody else’s. And they didn’t _get_ that.”

“The person with the child,” Helena ventures.

“The person _or_ the child.”

“I see,” Helena says, and now she is wondering who this person and her child could have been.

“Do you? Do you really see?” She sounds oddly hopeful.

“I think so. But Myka?”

Myka seems to steady herself against something she fears Helena will say. “What?”

“The way you’ve described the situation to me suggests that you don’t ever want to be involved with _anyone_ , child or no child. Because anyone is going to run around with dirty paws.”

“I know that. I told you, I don’t go around saying things to women about what I want to do to them in motel rooms.”

“Then why did you say those things to me?”

“Because I didn’t know how to think better of it. I didn’t know how to think. Every single time I’ve been around you, I’ve stopped thinking.”

“Not every _single_ time,” Helena scoffs.

“Why do you think I stayed on the phone the whole time in that cab?” She ducks her head, as if she is suddenly shy, and coughs a barely perceptible laugh of self-deprecation.

And Helena realizes that she herself has just completely lost her cool in the pocket, that in fact the pocket is collapsing around her and she has no way to salvage the play, or the game, or the game plan, because it is not a game at all, and it is nothing for which she could plan. Because she knows, now, having seen that head-duck, having heard that insecure laugh, that she is in love with Myka Bering.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Naturally, after Helena has experienced one of the more earth-shattering revelations that are available to be experienced, she and Myka do the most normal thing they have ever done together: they go to lunch. Helena is a bit too stupefied to have much of a response to Myka’s suggestion that this is what they should do. Myka tells Claudia that they are going, seeing as how the market’s closed, and that they will be back, yes, in plenty of time for the meeting.

“Is this really okay?” Myka asks Helena when they are in the elevator. “You haven’t said three words. Did you have more to do for the meeting?”

Helena tries to pull herself together, because all right, how much of a surprise is this “in love” business _really_. (Quite a large one, _really_.) “No,” she says. “No. The meeting is fine, this is fine, you’re fine, I’m fine. We are going to lunch. As people do. When they are socializing. As people also do.”

“Did you maybe get hit in the head?” Myka asks. “Did _I_ hit you in the head? And not realize it?”

And Helena wants to say, “Yes, you have articulated the situation quite nicely: you hit me in the head and did not realize it. And now it is too late.”

****

There is not enough time to take Myka’s car, to leave the Financial District, to find a place that is quiet; but they do it anyway. There is not enough time for Helena to gather herself, to calm down, to ease her way into talking to Myka normally again… but she does that anyway. And there is certainly not enough time, once they are back in the parking garage, for them to realize that exhaust fumes are still an aphrodisiac, that the edge is back on, and that they might need to spend a moment, or two, or several, getting some things out of their systems.

By the time they exit the elevator, they are late, they are breathless, and Claudia is waiting for them, with their “busted” and “super-busted” post-its stuck to her index fingers. She is waggling them next to her shoulders like tiny angel wings. “Thought these might come in handy again. You are hereby sentenced to wear them in the meeting. Just make sure nobody Instagrams you, because I think Artie would blow all his gaskets.”

Myka scoffs, “As if Artie knows what Instagram is.”

Claudia scoffs right back, “As if _you_ know what Instagram is.”

Helena says, “I’ll have Christina give her a tutorial on Saturday. I’m sure Myka will love it, given how keen she is for social media. In general.”

Claudia deadpans, “You never know, H.G. This could be the one that finally takes.”

Helena says, with what she hopes is transparently counterfeit enthusiasm, “Could it?”

“Nah,” Claudia says. “Just playin’.”

“Currently disliking the both of you,” Myka says. She takes her post-it from Claudia, sticks it on her shirt, and strides toward the conference room.

“Well, if she’s wearing hers…” Helena shrugs and accepts the tag. “Thank you, Claudia.”

Claudia looks thrilled. “I never know what’s gonna work and what’s not, you know? So I try it all.”

“Write that down for me,” Helena tells her.

****

“Hi guys,” Steve says as Helena walks in. “I went ahead and started when we were supposed to, you know, be here, since H.G., you know what got approved, and Myka doesn’t care.”

Pete says, “This is gonna be so, so great. I’m totally putting up a little widget on my website, and it’s gonna be ‘Pete’s tweets,’ because Pete rhymes with tweet, and people like rhymes, but they don’t know why. They just like ’em.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Myka says.

“You’re just jealous, _Myka_ , because nothing rhymes with Myka. Except that dog, Laika.”

“What dog Laika?”

“First animal in outer space.”

Abigail adds, helpfully, “There’s also a whole breed called laikas.”

Pete gasps. “Ohmygod you should get one! You could be Myka, walkin’ her laika! People would like it, and they wouldn’t know why!”

Myka says, “I _wouldn’t_ like it, and I would know exactly why.”

“Why?” Pete asks.

“I don’t want a _dog_. It’s enough that there’s a child coming to my apartment this weekend. How did this happen to my life?” She leans her head on the back of her chair.

Jane Lattimer tells her, “You foolishly took my advice some years ago and came to work here.”

Myka raises her head. “That’s right; this _is_ all your fault. I hate you along with everyone else right now.”

At that, Abigail starts laughing. “Sure, super-busted, nothing’s got anything to do with _you_ , because you hate _everyone_ , including ‘busted’ over there. And don’t wink at her, either.”

“I am not winking at her,” Myka sulks.

“I can attest,” Helena says. “She is not. She has never, to the best of my knowledge.”

Steve says, in the slightly desperate way that Helena usually laughs at, “I think we should just be happy they’re speaking. I know I am. Even if it means they show up late for meetings.”

And Helena can’t help but huff, “What puts _you_ so beyond reproach?”

This makes Liam smile at Steve. He says, “Steve doesn’t do anything on company time.”

“We are allowed to go to lunch!” Myka says.

Pete snorts. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

His mother sighs, “Some days it’s nice to have Artie here, simply for maturity backup.”

“Hey!” Myka objects.

“Myka, dear,” Jane says, “you are wearing a post-it note that reads ‘super-busted.’”

“God, I know. And I’m starring in _Lysistrata_.”

Helena says, “No, I think _I’m_ starring in _Lysistrata_.”

“Why do you get top billing?”

“It’s the title role!”

Myka points a triumphant finger at her. “Ah _ha_! So you admit it! Now _you’re_ super-busted!” She takes the post-it from her shirt and slaps it onto Helena’s, beside her original one.

Helena attempts to ignore her. “I am also super-obligated to tell the rest of you, if Steve has not already, that you must be cautious about your posts to all sites as we begin. Your corporate overlords are rather… well, let’s call them rather _Myka_ when it comes to understanding particular services.”

Steve says, “We had to be very clear about what, for example, tweeting is. At first they wanted to make you put a boilerplate disclaimer in every tweet, saying that it wasn’t supposed to be taken as investment advice.”

Abigail smacks her hand on the table in front of her and starts laughing. “They wanted a disclaimer in every tweet. Let me guess: that very disclaimer was 141 characters long, right?”

“Pretty much,” Steve says.

Helena adds, “So you see that showing restraint is most likely the best approach.”

Myka says, “You bet I’ll show restraint. I’ll show so much restraint you won’t even know that I’m doing it, how’s that?”

“I get it,” Pete says. “Because you won’t be!”

“You have cracked my code, Pete.”

Helena is, in fact, slightly put out by this attitude. She tells Myka, “If you think that simply because we are not currently at _personal_ odds that I am suddenly going to find your objections _charming_ , you are sadly mistaken.”

“Well, if _you_ think I’m going to magically stop _having_ objections just because we’re not currently at personal odds, then we are going to find ourselves back at personal odds pretty fast.”

Pete whines, “I want to be in a different meeting. One actually about tweeting.”

He looks expectantly over at Myka, who responds, “No, Pete, I didn’t like that.”

“Come on! Yes you did!”

Myka tells him, “It’s true that if I did, I certainly don’t know why.”

“You know what?” says once again slightly desperate Steve. “Let’s just say you’ll do some personal brand-building. But remember, for the first time, you’re actually identifying yourselves as Warehouse FAs. So, Pete, no pictures of your lunch, probably.”

“But that kind of _is_ my personal brand.”

“He’s right,” Jane affirms. “Steve, I’m sure you’ve learned by now that Pete’s genius lies precisely in his ability to be himself.”

Myka says, “People like him, but they don’t know why.”

Pete nods. “Except partly it’s because they know I know where the best taco trucks are. So yeah, that is totally my brand. The brand that I am now gonna go build into the Taj Mahal. Or, wait, is there some big building that rhymes with Pete? I’m totally building it into the Taj Maheet! The Burj Khaleet! The Empire State BuilDEET!”

Helena turns to Myka and says, “Your business involves retirees who receive Social Security, does it not? Do you not deal with the implications of FICA?”

Pete’s mouth falls open. He stands up and applauds, Abigail starts laughing again, and Myka sighs. She says, “I don’t have the slightest idea why, but it’s true: I like it.” She reaches over, plucks her red post-it from its spot next to “busted,” puts it back on her own shirt. Then she smiles. Then she winks at Helena.

Abigail laughs until she cries. Literally.

****

Helena knows she has to tell Christina what is intended to happen on Saturday evening. She knows very well, and yet she puts it off. She tells herself on Tuesday evening that it is because Christina is meeting Liam on Wednesday evening. She tells herself on Wednesday, as she is enforcing Christina’s bedtime, that it is because Christina has just met Liam. Christina likes him very much, she reports to Helena, because Liam told her he was chewing more gum now, thanks to the information she provided. “And then Dad Steve said he wasn’t sure it was making Liam any smarter because Liam was still willing to date him. And I said I thought anybody who wanted to date Dad Steve had to be pretty smart, and Liam said he thought so too, and then he thanked me for the compliment. So I get why _you_ like him, Mom: he’s polite.”

On Thursday evening, Helena is carefully watching a pot of pasta to ensure that it does not boil over. Charles is beside her, stirring a variety of vegetables in a sauté pan, and Christina is grating cheese.

Helena tells herself that one does not ask one’s daughter over pasta primavera to meet an extremely significant other. That cannot possibly be how things are done, so it is obvious that nothing can be revealed this evening.

Charles, of course, picks this moment to murmur, “Tell her.”

“No,” Helena says. “And remind me, why did I tell _you_?”

“Because you were floating on air on Tuesday, and then again yesterday, and as we ate you said you would burst if you did not share the news of your _Lysistrata_ triumph.”

“I called it that?”

“You were on your third glass of wine. I won’t tell you what else you said, but I will tell you, tell your daughter right now.”

“Tell me what?” Christina asks. “No, wait. I have something to tell you, Mom: Dad Steve said he wanted to ask Liam to come museuming on Saturday if that was okay with me and if you thought it was okay too. Do you think Liam’s the kind of person who likes art? Or does he look more like history to you?”

“You could try art history and see how he manages,” Helena says.

“That’s a good idea,” Christina says.

Charles remarks, “That’s quite the full social calendar you’ll have on Saturday.”

“It’s just a museum,” Christina says. “That’s not full. That’s only one thing. Can I play computer games in the afternoon?”

“Well,” Helena says. “There is perhaps one more thing.” She wonders now if it might not be easier to simply not find out if Myka and Christina could get along. That way, it would always be the case that they _might_ , and there will be no harsh reality of any sort…

“Helena, the pasta!” Charles shouts at her, and sure enough, it is boiling over, and the stove top will be hellish to clean. “I give you _one_ task,” he says, “and it isn’t even cooking, not really.”

“Two tasks,” Helena says. “Keep this from boiling over, and tell her.”

“And you are failing miserably at both.”

“Mom,” Christina says, “it’s okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

It’s a pastiche, of course, of what she herself regularly says to Christina. But it’s a very well executed pastiche… “Thank you, darling,” Helena says. “Do you remember some weeks ago, I mentioned Myka, one of the people we’re working with?”

“The one you didn’t remember to get to sign the consent form.”

“Ah… exactly.”  
  
“Did she finally sign it?”

“That would be an important follow-up question for you to ask, if I had in fact been experimenting on her. But Steve was simply being silly about that.”

Charles says, “Remind me to ask you later exactly how that particular conversation developed.”

“In any case,” Helena says, “she has been kind enough to invite us to dinner at her apartment on Saturday.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Perhaps because she needs all the Parmesan she owns to be grated energetically. I think that might be enough for the three of us. Possibly, for the three of us from now until sometime next summer.”

“Sorry. It’s kind of mesmerizing.” Christina sets down the sliver of Parmesan that remains.

“No, go ahead and finish it now,” Helena says, “but don’t become so mesmerized that you grate your fingers again.”

“You are avoiding the _issue_.” Charles hisses the last word at her.

“Yes,” she tells him. “Christina, she invited us because I told her I would like the two of you to meet.”

“Okay,” Christina says. “Oh, okay, I get it. Like how Dad Steve wanted me to meet Liam.”

“Yes, you do get it. Exactly like that. Is that all right?”

Christina thinks for a moment. “I think so. But only if she’s a better cook than you are.”

Helena long ago gave up being offended by the fact that Christina despises her cooking… for Helena herself has long despised her own cooking. Now she says, “I honestly don’t know. Most likely. She’s very good at a lot of things.”

Charles laughs himself into a coughing fit, to which Helena responds by pounding him on the back far more vigorously than is technically necessary.

****

On Friday, Helena arrives home slightly earlier in the evening than usual. When she reaches the kitchen, she realizes that Charles and Christina are in the backyard; she is about to call out to them when she hears Christina say to her uncle, “I don’t understand why suddenly Dad Steve, and also Mom, want me to meet people. It’s new. It’s weird. It’s _at the same time_.”

Helena does not feel right about eavesdropping. But she does want to know what course this conversation will take, and her curiosity wins out.

Charles says, “Do you remember Mr. Gladwell, Mr. Caturanga’s friend? You met him last year, and you liked his hair and his glasses.”

“His hair was awesome. Why won’t my hair do that?”

“Ask your mother and Steve. In any case. You remember he’s a writer.”

“The CDs we stole from Mom!”

“Liberated. We liberated them, from the neglected depths of your mother’s car. But yes, we listened to his _Tipping Point_ book.”

“I remember being upset about the _Blue’s Clues_ part. How planned-out that show was.”

“Planning is important. One can’t always rely on the happy accident, can one?”

“Accidents usually aren’t happy, anyway.” Christina’s voice sounds quite moody as she says this.

Helena hears a lightness in Charles’s tone when next he speaks, and she knows it is because he heard exactly what she did, from Christina. “Well, perhaps that’s the question under discussion. I think we may have found ourselves at one of those tipping points. Or rather, we have in fact tipped.”

“I am really hoping that doesn’t mean you want to introduce me to somebody too.”

“God no, child. In fact I refuse to set foot in that Warehouse, for fear that I too might fall under the spell of the place and imagine myself in love.”

Helena has not herself said it out loud. To hear Charles say it is… jarring. Not painfully so, but it shakes her. And she is further destabilized to hear Christina ask, “Is that true? Are they in love?”

“They may be, darling. I don’t know. What I do know is that they both want your approval.”

Christina takes her time responding. “What if it turns out I don’t like Myka?”

Charles says, “Then you must be honest,” and Helena thinks, _or perhaps not, as a matter of courtesy?_ Charles goes on, “But you also must not make your judgment based on _a priori_ hostility to her very existence.”

“I don’t _feel_ hostile. I just feel weird.”

“It is certainly your prerogative to feel weird. About anything you like. If it makes _you_ feel any less weird, I feel a bit weird about it as well.”

“Why?”

“Historically, your mother has very rarely been enthusiastic in this particular way.” This is quite true, of course; Charles himself has always had far more… enthusiasms than Helena has.

“What about Dad Steve?”

“Steve is enthusiastic about many, many more things in the world in general than your mother is. Nevertheless, I certainly didn’t expect a tipping point.”

“Wasn’t that part of what the book said? That it’s counterintuitive?”

Charles says, “I both like and dislike that you pay attention to things. Makes you easier to talk to, more difficult to fool.”

“Why would you need to fool me?” Helena can tell that Christina is playing it a bit disingenuous now.

“For the fun of it, child.” Charles, clearly, can tell as well.

“Well, maybe you’ve figured out the reason I pay attention to things, Nanny Charles.”

“And why, precisely, is that, my bound-for-boarding-school niece?”

“I don’t want you to have any fun.”

Listening to this exchange, Helena thinks about another variety of tipping point, the sort that might involve a small boat that has been sailing easily over the sea… that boat can sail on for a while through an unexpected change in circumstances. But at a certain point, the forces of turbulence are likely to become too great for it to withstand, and over it will go.

The small boat of their family has traveled quite smoothly for some time. Helena now is coming to understand, in a quite personal way, why storms are given names.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically the first part of a two-part set piece. You've been warned, or something...

On Saturday morning, Helena visits a florist and spends an inordinate amount of time and money on creating a bouquet as similar to the one in San Bernardino as possible. It was the time when she and Myka were least at odds, she thinks. Least at odds. Then she gets the bouquet home and, looking at it, is reminded not simply of not being at odds, but also of being in the motel room, and they have not been together like that since, and even though she knows _she_ wants to repeat that, and she is fairly certain Myka does as well, she doesn’t _know_ that Myka does, so she should probably go back to the florist and get something else entirely, or perhaps just keep these flowers here at home and find a nice bottle of wine to take instead—but no, she had wanted a gift that could purport to be from both her and Christina, and who could imagine that a nine-year-old knows anything about wine? And Helena is trying to come up with better options, but then Steve and Liam and Christina arrive back from their museuming (ancient Latin American art, and Liam says to Helena and Steve, while Christina is washing up, “I think she thinks I didn’t know enough about it going in; next time I’ll do more prep,” and Steve becomes positively starry-eyed, but Helena tells Liam, “no amount of prep is ever sufficient,” and Steve has to agree), and suddenly the afternoon is gone, and it is time to drive into the city, and the flowers will have to do.

It is still a relatively new thing to have Christina sitting in the front seat of the car, but she is now nine, now legally qualified. It means she can speak and be spoken to, in an actual conversation not conducted via the rear-view mirror. Generally, this is positive, but today, Helena would rather not have Christina shooting worried glances at her. She would certainly rather Christina not say, “Mom, you need to calm down.”

Helena, who is wondering if she is perhaps feverish, if they should turn around and go home and she should take to her bed, says, “What makes you think I’m not calm?”

“You’ve asked me three different times already if we remembered the flowers.”

“Perhaps I’m simply forgetful. Or perhaps I think you are.”

“I’m _holding_ them here in my _hands_.”

“How could I know that? I’m _keeping_ my eyes on the _road_.”

But as she says it, she looks over at her daughter. They both start to laugh, and indeed, Helena does calm down, just a little, just enough.

****

Helena lets Christina continue to hold the flowers as they stand at Myka’s door. She is afraid she will find herself tempted to kiss Myka through them… she knows she has made the right choice when Myka answers that door with a blindingly bright smile, so bright that Helena can barely look anywhere else. When she does, when she looks at Myka herself, she realizes that she has never, in the now months they have known each other, seen Myka wearing anything but a business suit of some kind (or nothing at all, her unruly libido reminds her), yet tonight Myka is wearing a T-shirt and jeans and… socks? Socks that are, incongruously, orange. Myka sees Helena look down at her feet and says, in lieu of a greeting, “My floors are kind of cold.”

“These flowers are for you. Can I take my shoes off too?” Christina asks.

“May I take my shoes off,” Helena says automatically.

“These are lovely flowers. And you may feel free to take your shoes off,” Myka says. “Or leave them on. They’re your shoes. They are your shoes.”

The repetition makes Helena look more closely at Myka—and she thinks she understands a bit more about the brightness of the smile. “This is only a guess, but… have you been drinking?” she asks.

“Not a lot,” Myka says. “Just a little. While I was cooking. I might be nervous.”

“To meet me?” Christina asks.

“Well, obviously,” Myka tells her. “I’ve met your mom already. Although… she does make me kind of nervous, your mom.”

“She makes a lot of people nervous,” Christina says, in the tone of one conveying a sincere confidence.

“That is good information,” Myka says back, in the tone of one receiving such a confidence.

“Incidentally,” Helena tells them both, “I am standing right here.”

And both of them look at her like she is an imbecile… and Helena says, like that imbecile, “Myka, this is Christina. Christina, this is Myka,” when what she wants to say is, “Myka, I love you, and Christina will as well, in short order. Please say that you love us too.”

****

“But seriously, no allergies?” Myka had asked Helena on Friday.

“But seriously no allergies,” Helena told her.

“And no violent dislikes?”

“An absurdly large number of violent dislikes. But not food-related.”

“Okay. Because I haven’t quite decided.”

“We could just order pizza—no, you like curry better. We could go to a restaurant. Or not actually do this at all, if you’ve reconsidered. Or if you want to reconsider.”

“Of course I want to reconsider. I always want to reconsider. Every time I click the button to make a trade, I want to reconsider.” She’d smiled then. “But don’t worry. I’m not _going to_ reconsider.”

Now Helena is wishing that she herself had reconsidered. Myka’s apartment could not be more different from their own suburban, slightly antique but mostly comfortable, style. It is a studio; there is some kind of geometrically carved not-quite screen providing a bit of separation between the bedroom area and the rest of the space, but other than that it is one long, light room. Helena sees immediately why Pete would break things: interesting objects sit near the edges of glossy surfaces. He would knock things down, and he would leave fingerprints as well. Christina is not one to knock things over, generally, but she does tend to touch. It had taken her ages to understand that museums were places where touching was not, in fact, encouraged…

Christina asks Myka, “Can I look around?”

Helena wants to yelp, “As if it were a museum, please!”, but she restrains herself. She settles for “May I look around.”

“May I look around? I’ve never seen a place like this. It’s like in a magazine.”

“Go ahead. But I don’t think my stuff is really very interesting.”

“What’s that?” Christina asks, pointing at a side table, on which stands a sculpture of a horse.

“It’s a replica of a horse from the Terracotta army,” Myka tells her. “I went to China once and saw them.”

Christina walks closer to the horse—but, Helena notes with great happiness, she does not touch it. “Your stuff is already really very interesting.”

“Thanks,” Myka says. She pads her way into the kitchen, carrying the flowers, and Helena follows her.

“Your apartment really is lovely,” she says to Myka’s back.

“Thanks,” Myka says again. “It’s kind of… you know you have an idea in your head, when you’re a kid, of what your life could look like?”

Helena does not, because she did not. When she and Charles lost their parents, the idea in both their heads involved staying together and determining how to face each succeeding day. “Well…” she says, to stall.

“This is pretty close to mine. I saw an apartment. I saw urban—but not tiny New York urban. Some big lofty space, like this. Maybe slightly warmer floors; the stone really does get so cold.”

“I’m glad you got what you wanted,” Helena says. This is exactly as Myka described herself, saying that she likes her life… and Helena sees now that the gulf between Myka’s life and her own is forbiddingly wide and deep. She cannot begin to imagine how to bridge it.

“How about a glass of wine?” Myka asks.

“I have to drive,” Helena says. Back to my own life, she thinks, my life that is so different from yours.

“Aren’t you planning on being here for a while?” Myka asks. “Just one. Please tell me I’m not the only one who’s a little nervous.”

This makes Helena laugh. “No. You’re not. At the moment I’m nervous because my child could be damaging your lovely things.”

Myka looks over at Christina, who is examining a flat object on a table behind the sofa. “You’ve been here almost ten minutes and everything’s still in one piece. It’s a low bar, but she is definitively better than Pete would ever be.” She raises her voice and says, “It’s an offertory. A collection plate.”

“Can I touch it?”

“May I touch it,” Helena mutters.

Myka smiles. “You may indeed touch it. It’s from a church in England, I think, and it’s old. Lots of people have touched it, so why not you? You could even put some money in it, if you want the real experience.”

Helena says, “She’ll never be satisfied with a museum again. She’ll also never be satisfied with her own house again.”

Myka just laughs. She busies herself filling a glass with wine for Helena, then finding and filling a vase with water for the bouquet.

“You brought me flowers,” she says. She is facing the sink, and Helena can’t see her expression or read her tone.

“ _We_ brought you flowers.”

Now Myka turns around. “But _you_ brought me _these_ flowers.”

“I didn’t know if you’d… well. Notice? Remember?”

“You didn’t know if I’d _remember_? Helena, it’s all I can do to keep from—”

“Hey, Myka?” Christina calls from across the apartment, from the living-room space.

Myka smiles at Helena, sweetly. It is less bright than before, but far more breathtaking. Then she says, “Hey what, Christina?”

“You have a lot of fancy stuff.”

“I have some fancy stuff, yeah,” Myka agrees.

“So why do you have a stuffed giraffe?” Christina walks into the kitchen, brandishing the animal almost accusingly.

“My sister gave it to me. She was being funny, because I’m tall. So I was funny back: I named it Contango.”

Christina looks at the giraffe, then at Myka. “I don’t get it.”

Myka sighs, “Neither did she.”

“I don’t either,” Helena feels compelled to add.

Myka sighs again. “Because if the market for a commodity is in contango, you don’t want to hold a net long position.”

Christina looks at the giraffe again. “I still don’t get it.”

“I don’t either,” Helena says.

Myka says, “Okay, see, it’s a giraffe, so it has to sort of figuratively hold a net long position, so the last thing it wants is for the market to be in contango. So it’s ironic.”

Christina asks Helena, “Is this one of those jokes I’m going to get when I’m older?”

“I would not hold out hope,” Helena tells her.

Myka heaves one more enormous sigh. “ _Nobody_ gets it.”

Helena and Christina both look at Myka. They say, at the same time, “Sorry.”

Mollifyingly, Christina goes on, “But Contango _is_ a pretty name.”

“Thank you.”

“Although I think it’s what I would name a fish.”

“A fish?” Myka asks. “What kind of fish?”

“A coelacanth.”

“Contango the coelacanth?”

Christina nods. “They both sound like dancing.”

“Ha,” Myka says. “South Bend. Sounds like dancing.”

Christina gasps, “That’s from _High Society_! Uncle Charles and I just watched that!”

“No, _Philadelphia Story_ ,” Myka says.

Christina’s brow wrinkles. “I’m pretty sure it was _High Society_.”

“That’s a remake of _The Philadelphia Story_.”

“Is that a musical too?” Christina sounds hopeful.

“It is not, thank god,” Myka shudders.

“Then I think remaking it was a good idea,” Christina says, this time in her most stubborn tone.

Myka says to Helena, “Your child is a philistine. Possibly also a heathen.”

“She enjoys musicals a great deal,” Helena explains. “In fact, she herself is learning to tap-dance.”

Now Myka’s brow wrinkles. “There’s no tap-dancing in _High Society_.”

Christina shouts “Ah hah!”, very much in the manner of a small Perry Mason who has finally wrung a confession from a witness.

“Ah hah what?” Myka asks.

“Ah hah, you admitted that you know there isn’t any tap-dancing. So you must have seen it,” the little cross-examiner concludes.

“I didn’t say I hadn’t seen it.”

“Then why don’t you like it?”

“Because it isn’t _The Philadelphia Story_. You know, I’d been wondering what to _do_ , because other than the food… but clearly this evening was meant to be, so I could fill this _gaping hole_ in your _education_. We are streaming _Philadelphia Story_ on Netflix, or Amazon or wherever we can find it. Unless your mom has some kind of philosophical objection.”

Helena grumbles, “I have a philosophical objection to the idea that you won’t use social networks but Netflix is just fine.”

“Explain to me how social networks are going to get _Philadelphia Story_ to show up on my TV, and we’ll see.”

“Is Grace Kelly in it at least?” Christina asks.

Myka’s jaw drops. “Katharine Hepburn!” She does not have to add “you heathen!” to that; it is very clearly implied.

This makes Christina pout. “I think Grace Kelly is very pretty.”

Myka snorts. “Well, I think some _paint colors_ are very pretty, but I don’t want them starring in my movies.”

“Is she this mean all the time?” Christina stage-whispers to Helena.

Myka asks Christina, “Are _you_ this mean all the time?”

Christina says, “This isn’t mean. This is just how I am.”

“Well,” Myka says. “Ditto.”

****

Myka has them sit at the table so she can bring dinner plates to them. She sets Christina’s in front of her first, with a small “ta-da!”

Christina looks down at her plate, then up at Myka. “It’s a pumpkin?” she asks. And it does seem, to Helena’s eyes, to be a small pumpkin, stuffed with something that smells delicious. The pumpkin’s top has been cut off, as one would for a jack-o’-lantern, and is leaning elegantly against the orange body.

But Myka shakes her head. “Technically no. Technically it’s a golden nugget squash. But same family. Because the thing is, I said something to your mom about turning into a pumpkin. And I sort of regret it, but not entirely. So this is sort of a pumpkin, but not entirely. I was also thinking that even if it tastes terrible, I have wowed you with the visual… or maybe I haven’t wowed you. I guess it kind of is just a pumpkin.” She scrunches up her face and looks at it as if it has offended her somehow.

“Do we eat the whole thing?” Christina asks.

Myka fetches two more plates, featuring two more pumpkins. “I think you can. Except for the top. I didn’t cook that; it’s just for effect.”

Christina says, “It’s a very neat effect. Would it work to cut a face into it, for even more effect?”

“I think a face might collapse while it cooked. I guess you could prop the holes open with toothpicks… but then the filling would make it look weird, don’t you think?”

“It would look _disgusting_ ,” Christina enthuses. “Like you were actually seeing into a skull. Wait, I know! You could put pieces of something right in the eye holes, for eyeballs! I don’t know what to do for the mouth. Maybe it could just be spitting out the filling?”

Myka doesn’t answer immediately, and Helena takes the opportunity to say, “Perhaps we could change the subject, as we’re eating?”

Myka waves a hand and says, “No, it’s fine. I was just thinking about what to use for eyeballs. Can you hard-boil a quail’s egg? That’d be the right size, and flavor-wise, I think an egg would be a nice addition; there’s sausage in the filling already.”

“It could be a breakfast pumpkin,” Christina suggests. “A puking breakfast pumpkin.”

Myka nods. “The puking part is kind of more up my friend Pete’s alley than mine, but it’s definitely Halloween-esque. I like it.”

Helena pretends to be aggrieved at the turn the dinner conversation has taken. She does this because she can think of no other way to hide the joy that she is sure is radiating from her entire being.

****

After dinner, they sit on the sofa, and Myka manipulates an extraordinary number of remote controls to direct an extraordinary number of devices to find _The Philadelphia Story_ for her.

Helena says, “I genuinely do not see how you can be so adept at this, and clearly at your electronic trading as well, and yet still fail to embrace other aspects of—”

“Would you please give it a rest?” Myka interrupts, almost as if it is a reflex.

“Oh, Myka,” Christina says, shaking her head. “You’ll find out pretty soon that Mom almost never gives it a rest. Whatever it is.”

Myka turns to Helena. “Your kid kind of has you nailed.”

Christina adds, “You should be glad you don’t have homework. Talk about not giving it a rest.”

“No homework? Christina, honey, you have no idea. See that stack of paper over there? And those are just the analyst reports I have to read this weekend.”

“Sssh. Don’t let Mom find out.”

“I am sitting right here!” Helena says, and both Myka and Christina give her a version of that “imbecile” look again.

Then Christina reaches over to Helena and pats her knee. “It’s okay, Mom. We know you’re here.”

Myka, who is on Helena’s other side, puts an arm around Helena’s shoulders and pulls her close. “We do know. And we feel pretty okay about it, too.”

“Do we?”

“We do. Do you feel okay about it?”

Helena knows she is asking whether it is all right for them to sit together like this, for Myka to hold her, in front of Christina. Helena does not know the answer to that question… but Christina will make it clear enough, soon enough, if she is uncomfortable. And since Helena cannot, at this moment, imagine extricating herself voluntarily from Myka’s embrace, she says, “More than okay.”

“Okay,” Myka says, and she starts the movie.

Katharine Hepburn regally breaks one of Cary Grant’s golf clubs over her knee, and Christina laughs. She laughs again a second later, when Cary Grant pushes Katharine Hepburn in the face and knocks her down. Then she looks over at Helena, guiltily.

“Perfectly fine to laugh at that in this movie,” Helena tells her. “Not at all funny in real life. Nor, incidentally, is it acceptable to break people’s golf clubs.”

Myka says, “Well. In the interest of full disclosure, I broke one of my sister’s golf clubs once.”

Christina, clearly fascinated, asks, “Why?”

Myka herself now looks at Helena a bit guiltily. “Actually, I bent it, since they’re made out of metal now. It was because she said that I look like a confused octopus when I play golf, and I said, I’ll show you a confused octopus playing golf.”

“You should try picking World Cup winners instead,” Christina says after a moment.

Myka tilts her head. “Excuse me?”

“Well, that octopus who could do it died.”

“That’s true.”

“Anyway,” Christina says, “I don’t really like soccer.”

“Really?” Myka asks. She sits up a little straighter; it makes her arm settle more firmly, closely, comfortably around Helena’s shoulders.

“I play it, though. Everybody plays it.”

“Oh.” Now Myka slumps back. But her hold on Helena remains very close, very intimate.

“It’s like there’s a law or something. But I still don’t really like it.”

Helena says, “Myka, you were correct: my child _is_ a heathen. A strange American heathen.”

“Mom, I _am_ an American.”

Myka says, “I think the ‘strange’ and ‘heathen’ parts are pretty accurate too, though.”

“If you keep talking, Myka, I can’t hear this movie that you think is so great.”

Helena would contribute. But she is comfortable, she is warm, she is blindingly happy… and she is also exhausted. She hears Christina say, “I miss ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire.’ Without the song, it’s awkward,” to which Myka answers, “That is part of the point…”

****

The next moment at which Helena is aware of anything, her eyes are closed, Jimmy Stewart is saying something about another drink, and Christina is asking quietly, “Myka, can I go to the bathroom? Can you pause it?”

Myka, equally quietly, answers, “I’m sure you _can_ go to the bathroom. And yes, I _can_ pause it.”

“You are worse than Uncle Charles. And Mom. _Put together_.”

“There is no way that that _can_ be true.”

“ _May_ I go to the bathroom, and would you please pause it.”

“Absolutely, to both. Back through where my bed is. See the door?”

“Okay.”

Myka says softly to Helena, “I know you’re awake now. I felt you move.”

“I don’t want to move,” Helena whispers. “Just enough to do this.” She reaches up and pulls Myka’s head down to hers, into a soft, drowsy kiss.

Myka raises her head after a moment and says, “Now I have all kinds of ideas about moving. In all kinds of ways.”

Helena kisses her again, after which Myka says, slightly anxiously, “It’s probably physically impossible for us to have meaningful sex in, what, two minutes? Is she good about washing her hands? We might get an extra thirty seconds if she stays in there and washes her hands…”

And a moment later, Myka is saying, “I honestly did not realize that an open floor plan was such a bad idea. I am having walls put up all over this place, because next time I am going to pull you behind one of those walls and… well, not have my way with you, because I get that that would probably be wrong, but I am totally going to figure out how I can kiss you more than once or twice. Hm… maybe some strategically placed bookcases…”

She is swiveling her head, looking for all the world as if she is seriously considering where to place those bookcases and construct those walls.

Helena smiles. “We are always sneaking around.”

Myka looks down at her and smiles back. “Oh well. Makes it exciting, right?”

“Makes it _infrequent_ ,” Helena says, with a small pout.

“Good point. Important point. Claudia would write it on a post-it.”

“Better that way,” Helena says. “No time wasted on talking.”

“Another good point,” Myka says, but she says it very quickly, and then no one is talking.

TBC (let’s call this intermission, shall we?)


	19. Chapter 19

Helena has her lips on Myka’s until she very suddenly does not have her lips on Myka’s, because Myka is suddenly saying, “Oh god. Sorry. Sorry.”

Helena looks up and realizes that Christina is sitting on the sofa again, contemplating the two of them. “I _am_ sorry, darling,” she says, as calmly as she can. “We didn’t mean to be so preoccupied.”

Christina crosses her arms. “It’s okay. I read about a study. Actually, it was an article about yawning. Did you know that parachutists yawn before they jump out of airplanes?

Myka clears her throat, coughs, sits up a little straighter. “No. I did not know that,” she says. Helena is relieved to note that she is making no effort to move her arms—for both of them are around Helena now.

“And the connection is…” Helena prompts her daughter.

Christina says, “Oh. Right. Yawning can get triggered by lots of things, but also by oxytocin. Which the brain releases when you kiss or hug somebody. At least, that’s what the _Wall Street Journal_ said.”

“You read the _Wall Street Journal_ ,” Myka says, as if it is a foregone conclusion.

“Sometimes. Uncle Charles always does.”

Helena adds, “He actually does.”

Christina says, “But this article was old, and we were reading it online, because… it’s a long story. It starts with a picture of a yawning chimpanzee, but be impressed, Mom, because I am refraining from telling the whole story.”

“You could, if you want to,” Myka tells her.

“No, I want to get back to the movie. Anyway, do you feel like yawning now?”

Helena laughs. “I honestly feel like yawning most of the time, I’m so tired. Myka, I’ve been wondering how you manage the hours.”

“I personally keep the melatonin industry in business.”

“Melatonin!” Christina says, and her sudden joy is transparent.

Myka says, “Right, it’s that body-clock hormone, from the… pituitary gland? My brain’s a little fuzzy. Starts with P anyway—”

Christina, still transported: “Pineal!”

Myka exhales. “Okay, I’m going to regret asking, but: how do you know that?”

“Because of the knockout mice.”

“Because of what knockout mice?” Myka asks.

Helena jumps in, “Christina is very intrigued by the concept of mice that have one particular gene knocked out—”

Myka says impatiently, “No, I know what knockout mice _are_.”

Christina leans forward, looking rather like a quizzical little mouse herself. “ _You_ know about knockout mice?”

“Of course I know about knockout mice. I have clients invested in pharmaceuticals and biotech.”

“Which is your favorite?”

“You mean pharmaceuticals or biotech?”

“No, silly. Knockout mouse!” Now Christina is leaning quite far forward, almost across Helena, as if she might be trying to see into Myka’s soul.

“Um… I don’t know that I have a favorite,” Myka says.

Christina sits back. “Well, I do.”

Myka says, mildly, “I am not surprised.”

“Frantic!”

“Okay.”

“They’re prone to anxiety!”

Myka looks down at Helena, who tries as best she can to convey “what, precisely, would you like me to do about it?” with an eyebrow raise.

“Also Methuselah,” Christina says.

“Let me guess,” Myka says. “They live a long time?”

“They _do_.”

“And whatever the melatonin ones are, do they have a name?”

Christina says, “I wish I knew. But they don’t have the right melatonin receptors, so their body clocks don’t work, and they get depressed.”

“Okay. Well, my body clock’s off, but I’m not depressed,” Myka says.

“That’s because you’re not a knockout mouse. There is a difference between not being able to use something at all, and not having enough of it at the right time. And that is exactly Mom’s problem.”

“Not knowing the difference?” Helena guesses.

“No!” Christina shouts. “You aren’t producing enough melatonin because you’re trying to go to sleep earlier than normal! If we get you some, I think you’ll feel a lot better.”

Helena says, “Oh, I feel quite good now.” She feels Myka’s arms tighten just a bit.

“That’s the oxytocin,” Christina says.

Helena leans over and kisses Christina’s cheek. “Well, there’s some for you.”

Myka extends a hand to tousle Christina’s hair. “A little from me too.”

Christina rolls her eyes. “Thanks. You guys are, like, the best or whatever. Can you unpause the movie, Myka?”

And Helena is settling back against Myka, so she feels Myka’s chest and shoulders move as she chuckles. “Really? How did this start?”

“You _are_ worse,” Christina declares. “Would you please unpause the movie?”

“Absolutely.” Myka says.

Helena is practically in Myka’s lap now, so Myka has to stretch across her to get the remote. Myka takes the opportunity to give her another swift kiss as she reaches for it.

On the screen, a tipsy Jimmy Stewart begins explaining to Cary Grant that women like to romanticize things.

“Yes they do, don’t they,” Cary Grant says.

“Yes they do don’t they,” Stewart repeats. He hiccups.

Christina laughs.

Any other time, Helena would be paying actual attention…

…but right now, Myka is sighing into her ear. “Busted,” she says.

“Super-busted,” Helena sighs back. And she wonders if it is possible to simply burst from love, to simply die from such surfeit.

****

When the movie is over, Myka says to Christina, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“I was right, wasn’t I? It’s better.”

“It is better,” Christina says.

“Ha!”

“If you mean _High Society_.” Yes, Helena had thought she recognized a certain craftiness in Christina’s tone…

Myka sputters, “But… what?”

“I still like _High Society_ better.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, _it is a musical_. Like I said before.”

“That is not a compelling basis on which to claim its superiority.”

“It’s compelling to _me_.”

“I’m just saying I don’t find it persuasive.” Myka says this almost dismissively, and Helena knows that that is quite likely to lead to trouble of some sort.

“That’s _your_ problem, not mine.”

“I’ll tell you who the person with the _problem_ in this scenario is—”

Helena says, in what she hopes but does not in any way believe will be a soothing manner, “I don’t think this is really the best way to resolve this disagreement.”

“Fine,” Christina says. She stomps over to the dinner table, sits down, props her right arm up on its elbow, and looks aggressively at Myka.

Myka, in turn, looks at Helena. “Is she serious? She can’t possibly be serious.”

Helena says, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I refuse to on principle, of course, but she and Charles keep a tally between them, one that has grown more even as time passes. Charles always was rather scant in terms of upper body strength… however, she’s never, to the best of my knowledge, beaten Steve.”

“Are you chicken?” Christina calls from the table.

“Am I chicken. Do I look chicken?”

“You do, sitting over there.”

Myka says, “I’ll show you what chicken looks like, because it’s going to be _you_ , next time, after I beat you as bad as I’m about to this time.”

“That didn’t make any sense.”

“It will in a minute, eventual chicken.” Myka stomps her own way over to the chair closest to Christina and props her own right arm up. They clasp their palms together, then both look over at Helena expectantly.

Helena rolls her eyes. “Fine. Go,” she says.

“Mom, do it right!”

“Very well. Ready… set…” She waits an extra moment.

“What are you waiting for?” Myka demands.

Helena laughs. “That. Go.”

They grapple in silence for a bit; Myka clearly had expected to win easily, and she is looking with a bit of concern at Christina and at her own arm.

Then Christina asks, “What kind of car do you have?”

“A Prius. What does that have to do with your hopeless attempt to keep your arm from collapsing?”

“Nothing. I was trying to distract you.” Christina is focusing so, so intently that Myka might just as well be, Helena thinks, a disembodied hand at this point.

“Didn’t work. What kind of car do _you_ have?”

“Mom has a Jetta. I tried to get her to get a biodiesel one, but she didn’t want to do anything positive for the environment.”

Helena protests, “That is not fair.”

“Don’t distract me, Mom,” Christina says.

Myka says, “The environment’s the only reason I have the car I have. Would it distract you to know what I really want?”

“What?” Christina asks. “Is it a motorcycle? Uncle Charles keeps saying he wants a motorcycle, and Dad Steve says if he rides around on a motorcycle with that moustache, there is nothing that could be done for him.”

“It is not a motorcycle. You’re actually pretty strong for an eventual chicken who’s wrong about movies.”

“I am, actually,” Christina says, but without vanity. “I can do pull-ups. So what do you want?”

“A pickup truck.”

“Why do you… want a pickup truck?” Christina puffs out a small breath of what might be fatigue.

“I just do. Haven’t you ever wanted something just because you wanted it?”

“Yes. But Mom says that’s not a reason.”

Myka says, “Mom might need to rethink.” She forces Christina’s arm down, says “ha!”, then looks up at Helena with a mix of triumph and something like “oops, sorry” on her face.

And again, Helena wants to say “I love you.” Just because she wants to. Because she wants Myka… just because she wants her.

****

When it becomes clear that Helena and Christina _must_ leave if Christina is to get anything resembling a night’s sleep, they begin the departure process. Christina sits on the floor by the front door to put on her shoes, and she looks up at Myka. “This was okay,” she says. “Actually better than okay. The pumpkin was awesome. I still like my movie better, though.”

“You know,” Myka tells her, “I respect someone who sticks to her guns. Even if she is completely wrong and also not nearly good enough at arm wrestling to defend her poor choices.”

“I bet there’s some movie we both like,” Christina says. “Did your favorite Katharine Hepburn person ever make a musical?”

“God no. That would be awful. Wait, I take it back: _Stage Door Canteen_ , but that doesn’t really count; she doesn’t sing or anything. Besides, it was wartime, and people did crazy things then. What’s your feeling about leopards?”

“I like them. Not as much as jaguars.”

“Why not?”

“Jaguars can swim, but leopards can’t.”

“So if I’m across the river from a leopard, I’m good, but if it’s a jaguar…”

“Start running. Actually, don’t bother; they can outrun you.”

“So I should just sit down and reconcile myself to my fate?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well,” Myka says. “If you say so.” She drops down to the floor next to Christina.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sitting down and reconciling myself to my fate.”

“What’s your fate?”

“We’ll see. But I’m trying to reconcile myself to it, anyway.” She looks up at Helena. “How’m I doing, coach?”

“Sign up for Twitter and we’ll talk.”

To Christina, Myka says, “You are so right about her.”

Christina nods sagely and stands up. She and Helena both offer hands to Myka, who takes them and pulls herself up, closer to Helena, and it seems almost accidental that she has to steady herself with an arm around Helena’s hips.

Helena says, “Christina, darling, would you be so kind as to wait in the hall for just a moment? To give us a bit of privacy to say goodnight?’

“You are being kind of obvious, Mom.”

“Yes, I am. Apparently oxytocin agrees with me.”

Christina sighs. “Okay. Thanks for the pumpkin and stuff, Myka.”

“You’re welcome,” Myka says. “Thanks for sitting through the movie and not being a completely bad sport about it. Also for liking Contango’s name.”

“You’re welcome too. Remember, read your reports, or Mom will never give it a rest.”

“Won’t she?” Myka asks. Her mouth is very close to Helena’s ear.

“Just one minute, darling,” Helena says. “I promise.”

“Yeah, okay,” Christina says, and she slips out the door, closing it behind her.

“Alone at last,” Myka jokes, as Helena turns to face her. “I think that went all right, don’t you?”

Helena wants to weep at the understatement, at the perfection; she wants to say “I love you” in every possible way, but she can’t, she knows she can’t… and yet if she can’t _say_ it, she can enact it, here, now, fast—“What are you doing?” Myka asks, on one long inhalation, as Helena pushes her hand down the front of Myka’s jeans.

“What does it feel like I’m doing? Be quiet.”

Helena wants them all to get into the car together and go home _together_ ; she wants Myka to fit like this, _just_ like this, into their lives, but she will have to settle for Myka fitting like this against her hand, for her warmth and her wet and the press Helena puts to it, and it takes so little, really, so little force, so little time that it is almost like the first time, Myka is that ready, that needy; it is no time at all before she is bending against Helena, hitching, catching, falling.

Myka makes a low, beautiful noise.

And then Helena breathes, “Meaningful?” into Myka’s ear.

“Oh my god,” is all Myka murmurs at first, then she says, “But what can I… I mean, for you… I can barely…”

“Shhh. The look on your face. That’s all I need.”

“You put this look on my face.”

“Good,” Helena says. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

In answer, Myka brings her hands to Helena’s neck. She kisses her forehead, then says, “If I could, I would pick you up and carry you to my bed and show you all the ways it’s good. Or I would stand here with you and never say or do anything else at all, and it would still be just as good.”

Helena chokes on all the words she wants to say, even the ones that aren’t “I love you.” All she can muster is, “I have to leave.”

“I know you do… but I also know I’m very glad you were here. Both of you.”

****

“So what do you think of Myka?” Helena ventures when they are on the freeway.

“She is a strange one,” Christina says.

“I suspect she is thinking something quite similar about you. Because really, arm wrestling? With someone other than Charles or Steve?”

“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Can I tell Uncle Charles about the pumpkins? Wait, don’t bother: May I tell Uncle Charles about the pumpkins?”

“I suppose. I’ll hold out hope that the two of you are unable to locate quail eggs.”

“Then it would just be puking out of its eye sockets too, Mom.”

“You are a wonderful conversationalist.”

“Thanks. So are you, when you aren’t kissing people.”

Helena supposes that, since Christina has brought it up, now is the time to talk about it. “Did that bother you?”

“You want me to say no.”

“I want you to tell me the truth,” Helena says.

“The truth is, I don’t know. It’s different.” Christina yawns.

“Are you preparing to jump out of an airplane?” Helena asks.

“I like that she knows about knockout mice.”

“I like that too,” Helena says. “I did not expect that.”

“And the movie was actually pretty funny.”

“You should tell Myka you think so.”

Christina considers this for a moment. “No, I don’t want it to go to her head.”

“I don’t think it would go to her head. I think it would just make her happy.”

“Well, _I_ think it would make her do some kind of victory dance.”

“That’s more her friend Pete’s department.”

“He’s the one who would like the puking pumpkin, right? Do I get to meet him sometime?”

“I don’t see why not. I think you two would get along quite well. You also should certainly meet Claudia, who has an inordinate fondness for post-it notes.”

“I don’t like the extra-sticky kind. How does she feel about those?”

“We haven’t discussed them. I’ll have to inquire on Monday.”

Helena’s telephone rings, and Christina pulls it out of its dock before Helena can do anything. “It’s Myka!” she says. “Can I answer it?”

Helena can’t stop the surge of feeling that overtakes her; she fears, though, that if Myka is somehow present in the car, she will be too sensitized to drive, too aware to pay attention to anything else. “I think we’ll let her leave a message,” she says.

****

When Christina is at last in bed, when Helena is at last alone, she takes out her telephone. She does indeed have a voicemail from Myka, and her heart quickens a bit, thinking of what she might have said. Might have been moved to say. Mind the expectations, she tries to admonish herself as she enters the code to retrieve her messages.

_You have, one, message. Message left, today, at, nine, thirty, two, P, M._

“Helena, listen, I could say all kinds of things, but none of them would change the situation as it stands at this moment. I’m just going to tell you up front, because I think that’s the best approach: you’re fired. You and Steve, I mean. Well, Chessboard, really, not you personally, although I guess—”

Helena looks at her phone. She touches the screen to hang up. She sits down on what she supposes must be her bed.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Charles is still awake; Helena can hear him tapping at computer keys. She knocks softly on his door, then says his name.

“I’m _writing_ ,” he says, and he is annoyed, but he opens the door anyway, because he is Charles.

And because he is Charles, he says, when he sees Helena’s face, “Sit down.”

She sits on his bed.

“Not half an hour ago, you were happier than I have seen you in _years_. What’s happened? I know Christina’s all right, but… is it Steve? Is he hurt?”

Helena shakes her head. “Steve is fine. As far as I know.”

“Then what in the world?” His eyes widen. “Is it your Myka? Is _she_ hurt?”

Helena almost laughs. “ _She’s_ not hurt. But, yes, it’s Myka.”

“If it’s Myka, but she isn’t… oh. Oh I see. She’s hurt _you_ in some way.” He sits down next to her.

“Charles, why am I so foolish?” she asks.

“You’re not foolish.”

“Oh? Really?” Now Helena does laugh. “I lost my head over this woman. I saw that it was a mistake, at each of several points; at each of several points, I saw that it would not end well. And yet I still continued to make the mistake—in fact I _set out_ to make the mistake. I _planned_ to make the mistake.”

“We all set our hearts on things,” he says. “On people.”

“And then I compounded the mistake by bringing Christina into it. That was… unpardonable.”

“But you said it went so well! And Christina seems so taken with her. I’m not entirely looking forward to this rude pumpkin breakfast we’re meant to enjoy soon, but—”

“She left me a voicemail. She said that I was fired. Rather, Steve and I. Chessboard.”

Charles scratches his head. “Oh. Why?”

“I suspect it’s a combination of things. But this is just… I mean, she must have known the whole time, the whole time, and yet acted as if… as if…” Helena tells herself that she is not going to cry. That crying is pointless at this point. Absolutely pointless.

“As if what, darling?”

“As if everything were not about to change!” Helena hates that this comes out almost as a child’s wail.

Charles says, “Everything is always about to change.”

“I didn’t want anything about tonight to change. It was perfect, Charles. It was perfect. It was everything I ever wanted.”

“But then I don’t understand,” Charles says. “Why can’t you simply continue to see her? You and Steve would have moved on in any case. It is the nature of your work. Steve certainly seems intent on continuing his association with Liam.”

Helena can barely articulate her reasons to herself, let alone to Charles. “Because it isn’t just that. It’s everything. She likes her life as it is; she’s told me so. She doesn’t want anyone’s expectations placed on her. And so tonight… I don’t know what happened tonight. Perhaps she wanted to give it to me as a gift. A parting gift.” She had not thought it like that before this moment. She should not have done so now; the threatening tears are forming, burning. “You should see her life, Charles. You should see it. I know that you and I, the life we have now, where we live, the money we have, it was unthinkable for so long, but her life—”

“What she has cannot possibly rival what we have, and ours is thanks to you, Miss Stanford. And Caturanga, who ensures that you put your talents to the best use possible. And to Steve of course; without him, obviously, no child to make it complete.”

Charles had thought to help, she knows, but he has made it worse… “That’s just it, Charles. Her life is complete already. I assure you, she does not need me. And she certainly does not need Christina.”

“Then why did she take up with you in the first place?”

“She said she thought it was temporary.”

“I see. That seems a rather harsh thing to say.”

“We were at odds,” Helena says, and she adds, sadly, “at _personal_ odds. We are always at odds about something.”

“Well… and I almost hesitate to bring this up, given our amity at this particular moment, but: so are you and I. So are all of us and Christina—if one is not at some sort of odds with that child, it is most certainly because she is _asleep_. Helena, this is a _hallmark_. Of _relationships_.” Now he sounds very like the know-it-all of their childhood. He is not wrong, of course… he was rarely wrong then, either.

“I know that,” she says; at least she now feels annoyance, and that is taking precedence over the tears. “But don’t you see? It’s simply one more thing. And I have been adding them up since I heard her message. I have been adding them up.”

“And the number is large.”

“Yes.”

“And yet,” he says, slowly, “there is an ‘and yet.’”

Helena shakes her head. “I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to say it, because I don’t want to think it, because I want to stop thinking it.” She looks at her brother. “I wish you could tell me one of your stories. Right now, simply tell me.”

He laughs very gently. “Those stories never really took your mind off of anything. And you outgrew the very idea of such distractions so quickly…”

“I still wish you could.”

“So do I,” he says, and now he takes her hand briefly. “Instead of a story, here are instructions: Go to bed, get some sleep, and see where you are in the morning, all right? You may yet find a way for the ‘and yet’ to win out.”

“All right,” Helena says. But she is fairly certain she will be right here, in exactly the same place, in the morning… and she is also fairly certain that it will be better for everyone if the “and yet” loses. If the “and yet” does not even try to compete.

****

Helena expects not to sleep. She expects to toss and turn; she expects to keep feeling the break in her heart, expects it to hurt with every beat.

Instead, she sleeps soundly. She sleeps soundly for an extraordinary number of hours; she knows the number has been extraordinary because when she awakens, she can hear Christina cheering over a football game. So it is after ten in the morning… she has not slept later than six, even on a weekend, in months. _Except in San Bernardino_ … but she is not going to think about San Bernardino. Not now, and not ever again.

When she eventually makes her way to the kitchen, Charles is making a fresh pot of coffee. He is doing this extremely carefully, as if any sudden movement might startle Helena back to bed. Christina, on the other hand, is sitting in wait for her; she pounces immediately. “Mom, I figured out why Myka asked me about leopards. I think she likes a movie called _Bringing Up Baby_. Do you think she’ll be impressed that I figured it out?”

Helena becomes aware that she does not entirely have her game face on yet, because she cannot help saying, “I’m sure that if you see her again, she will be very impressed.”

“What does that mean?” Christina asks.

“It means that I’m sure that if you see her again, she will be very impressed.”

Now Christina sounds suspicious. “Why _if?_ ” And now she looks to Helena’s side, as if something is happening…

Helena whirls around, and something _is_ happening: Charles is waving his hands frantically, trying to cut her off. Helena feels that she would happily cut them both off. She tries to keep her tone civil as she says, “Wasn’t that football I heard? Shouldn’t you be cheering for… whichever team it is you cheer for?”

“The Broncos. You know I like Peyton.”

“Please do not say Omaha.”

Christina, an offended frown stalking her face, says, “I wasn’t going to. I _was_ going to keep you company for a little while instead of watching, but if you don’t want me around, then _fine_.” She stamps her feet on her way out; the volume of the game then increases dramatically.

Charles does not say anything. He fries potatoes, because that is what he does when he does not know what else to do, particularly in the morning.

Helena drinks coffee and listens to her telephone vibrate against the table. She does not even need to look to know that it is Myka calling. She supposes it might be Caturanga or Steve, but they seem to have given up for the moment.

“Answer it,” Charles says after a while. “That buzzing will make me throw it across the room shortly.”

“I don’t want to answer it. I think this will be better if it is a clean break, at least personally. I will deal with the professional fallout on Monday, because I honestly do not have the resources today. I don’t want to talk to Caturanga, for he will put a jolly face on the situation and expect me to do the same, and I don’t want to talk to Steve, because he will be solicitous of my feelings, and I cannot take that either. I would just like to have today to feel absolutely awful, and then I will put everything back together tomorrow. Could I just have that, please?”

Christina calls out, “Hey, Mom and Uncle Charles! I think you might want to come and look out the window!”

Helena is tempted to throw her telephone across the room in a fit of temper, which would carry the bonus of preempting Charles, and add her coffee cup for good measure… but she tamps down the idea and follows him into the living room, where they look out the front window.

Charles says, “Here is my guess, Helena: No, you cannot have today to spend in the manner of your choosing. In fact, I think today is about to become very, very interesting.”

Christina says, “That is a very, very pretty Prius.”

Helena says, “Oh my god.” Because she recognizes that very, very pretty Prius. And also because unfolding herself from that very, very pretty Prius is a very, very angry Myka Bering.

Christina rushes to the door and propels herself outside; Charles follows at a pace that is only slightly more sedate. Helena considers slipping out the back.

Then she hears a very, very angry voice shout, “Helena Wells, get out here!”

So she does.

“Hello, Myka,” she says.

Myka reaches her hands toward Helena as if she would be very happy to strangle her; at the last moment, she points both index fingers at her. “Do not even _begin_ to ‘hello Myka’ me. I have to get in my car and drive to _Encino_ to get you to talk to me? I must really love you or something, because I can’t imagine what else could get me on the 405 on a _Sunday_ with a bunch of _tourists_ whose _mission in life_ is clearly to _cut me off_. And incidentally, if this is your big clever ploy to finally _get_ me to come to Encino… well, it’s actually pretty clever, now that I think about it, because it _worked_.” She seems to notice for the first time that they are not alone. “Hey, Christina. How are you. And this must be Charles. Hi.”

Helena is wondering if she herself actually understands words. “What is happening?” she asks.

Myka makes the strangling motion again. “I am trying to fix the situation, because for reasons known only to you, you did not act on the information I so helpfully provided to you last night. And how do I know this? Because I have spent the past… I don’t know _how many_ hours talking to all the people you should have been talking to, but you didn’t talk to a single one of them, which I know because _I did_.  And why did I do that, I have continued to ask myself? And the answer is, I don’t know! I don’t have the faintest idea why I want to help you, because you are a crazy person, but _apparently_ you are _my_ crazy person, and how this happened _I still don’t know_ , but pack your damn bags, because we have a flight to catch.”

Christina asks, “Where are you going?”

“We are going to New York,” Myka tells her.

“Why are you going to New York?”  
  
“Because that is where the company I work for has its headquarters. It is also where my boss has been for the past week, clandestinely. I had no idea I worked in such a _cloak and dagger_ business, but you learn something new every day. Unless of course you’re your mother, who I guess has more important things to do.”

“Wait,” Helena says, “Artie was in New York?”

“Yes! Trying, successfully as it turns out, to get you fired! As I _told you_ in the message I left for you right after he called me to gloat about it! God! What is the _matter_ with you?”

“Ah,” Helena says. And _oh dear_ , she is thinking.

“Ah, what?”

“I may have been. Perhaps. A bit. Hasty.”

“ _Hasty_?” Myka snorts. “As far as I can tell, you’re moving at the speed of a snail school zone.”

Christina says, “I like that.”

“Thanks,” Myka tells her.

“Because their shells are like backpacks.”

Myka says, “I actually had not even thought of that, but good point.”

Helena says, with a wild hope that she might be able to slip this information in subliminally, “Ididntlistentoyourentiremessage.”

But Myka wheels back to her, hands once again practically astrangle. “You _what_?”

“I heard you say that we were fired, and I was… well, I was hurt.”

“You were _hurt?_ I have spent the greater part of last night and _all_ of this morning phoning and driving all over this city because you were _hurt?_ I am standing here yelling at you _in Encino!_ Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t get back on the 405 and drive back to my real life!”

Christina walks to Myka’s side. She pulls on her sleeve—it is the sleeve of a hooded sweatshirt, over the same T-shirt from last night. When Myka looks down, Christina says, “Because of a bunch of tourists whose mission in life is clearly to cut you off.”

Myka inhales and exhales very deliberately. “You wouldn’t happen to have an eidetic memory, would you?” she asks.

“I would!”

Myka closes her eyes. When she opens them, she says, “Yeah. We should talk.”

“We are talking,” Christina points out.

“Yeah,” Myka says. She sits down in the driveway. She loops her arms loosely around her knees.

Christina asks, “Are you reconciling yourself to your fate?”

“Yeah.”

“Because you don’t want to get back on the 405, or because it really is your fate?”

“I honestly can’t see a difference at this point.”

Christina says, “The difference is that you _could_ get back on the 405, but if it’s _fate_ —”

“Christina,” Helena says. “Would you give us just a moment, please?” She sits down in the driveway beside Myka.

“Come on, Nanny Charles,” Christina says. She pulls at her uncle’s arm. “I am pretty sure this is gonna involve oxytocin, and trust me, you will be happier in the hallway.”

Charles says, “I am thrilled to report that I have no earthly idea what you are talking about.” He gives Helena an _are you all right?_ look; she nods. He nods back, then follows Christina into the house.

Neither Helena nor Myka speaks for a while. They are facing the house, looking at the garage door. Eventually Helena says, “Really?”

“Really what?”

“All of it.”

Myka moves her shoulders slightly. “I guess so.”

They sit quietly for a moment. Then Helena moves closer, so that their shoulders are touching. “I apologize for not listening to your entire message,” she says.

Myka says, “I apologize for having a shortsighted boss. Also for not really seeing what the problem was there.”

“What was the problem there?”

“He thought I was on his _side_ ,” Myka says.

“Weren’t you?”

“I’m not on anybody’s side. Well. I _wasn’t_.”

“And now?”

Myka now moves closer, so that their legs touch as well. “You know how teachers like to say there’s no such thing as a dumb question?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s not true. Because that was a pretty dumb question to ask somebody who is about to go to New York with you and plead your case to the CEO. Who is also the company president.”

“Is that what’s going to happen?” Helena asks.

“If you want to see this thing through. Do you?”

“Yes.” Helena pauses. She feels something very like happiness, a slightly cautious happiness, and it is the caution that makes her ask, “Do you really?”

“Want to see it through? Yeah, I do.”

“I was actually asking for confirmation of something else.”

Myka’s shoulder and leg shake as she laughs. “I had a feeling you might pick up on that part.”

“I found it to be an important part. Perhaps even the most important part.”

“I sort of did too. As I hope you realize, given where I’m sitting.”

“In a driveway?”

“In a driveway in _Encino_. Sometimes I think you _don’t_ actually pay attention to the important parts.”

“I love you.”

Myka tilts her head. “Well, then again, maybe you do.”

And Helena has approximately two seconds to hope that Christina and Charles are not watching through the window before she is kissing the woman she loves, the woman who loves her, while sitting in a driveway in Encino.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

Warehouse Finance’s corporate offices make the Los Angeles branch look like the remotest outpost of an impoverished strip-mall bookkeeping franchise. Helena feels that she must walk extremely softly—which is not difficult to do, here on the penthouse floor, with its plush carpeting and sound-absorbing walls—and sort through all the words she knows in order to choose ones that can be uttered as noiselessly as possible.

Helena and Myka are sitting in a reception area that easily dwarfs the entirety of Myka’s apartment. Helena smoothes a faint wrinkle from her skirt. “What happens if this doesn’t work?” she asks Myka.

“Then I get a hard slap on the wrist from Artie, Jane gets one too, and you and Steve go try to work your magic on some other company, one that everybody’s a lot less personally invested in.”

“I don’t mean that.”

Myka very casually touches Helena’s thigh, pulls the crease back into the same line that Helena just pressed flat.  She resmoothes the material, and Helena feels her blood jump, under the skirt, in response. “I know. What do you want to happen?”

And despite everything that has already happened, in the past twenty-four hours, Helena can’t quite find an answer.

“It’s okay,” Myka says. “I’d rather you think about it than say something clever.”

The receptionist calls to them, “Ms. Bering? Ms. Wells? Mrs. Frederic will see you now.”

****

“It turns out there are reasons you don’t see a lot of big romantic scenes in driveways. Or I guess I mean _on_ driveways,” Myka said.

“Because they are incredibly uncomfortable?” Helena guessed. They had tangled together at first, completely oblivious to the unyielding concrete… and then they both became increasingly aware of the unyielding concrete. And its extremely rough texture.

“Because they are incredibly uncomfortable. Also dangerous.” Myka pointed at Helena’s right elbow, which was almost completely stripped of skin.

Helena looked down. “Splendid. That _is_ romantic.”

“They do say that love hurts.”

“ _You_ seem to be uninjured.”

“I’ve got long sleeves on. Do they say that love gets gravel all over your hoodie? Because I am living proof.” She brushed ineffectively at the dirt.

“Note to self,” Helena said, “wear long sleeves to next outdoor declaration of love.”

“Just for my own future reference, how many more declarations of love, outdoor or otherwise, are you planning on participating in?”

“I think that is going to depend quite heavily on you,” Helena said, and she worried, right then, that it applied too much pressure, never mind what they had just said to each other.

“I’d be willing to try this one again once you’re in the right outfit. I think the part before you skinned your elbow was going pretty well—a little ad hoc maybe, but appropriate enthusiasm from everybody involved.” She leaned over and kissed Helena one more time. “But it’s going to have to wait until we get back from New York. We actually do have to catch a plane in a few hours.”

****

Mrs. Frederic’s office seems the size of a football field. Helena and Myka walk together to the desk in the end zone, the desk that is practically end-zone sized, and Helena realizes that the idea of a football field has come into her head because of the jumbotron-sized bank of screens that make up a full panel of the office’s wall. The screens are all dark now, despite the fact that the market has been open for some time. (Myka has done a bit of fretting, but an admirably small bit, on this point.) Helena does not know whether to be pleased or disturbed by the idea that she and Myka will have the great lady’s full attention.

Mrs. Frederic herself, a seemingly incongruous figure in a pink tweed suit, a beehive of braids, and cat’s-eye glasses, initially seems dwarfed by the space, by its opulence… but then she speaks. Her voice is not at all loud, but it fills the room quite completely. Helena imagines that it might do the same for the cosmos as a whole.

“So. This is Ms. Wells, the brilliant protégée of my old friend Caturanga. And Ms. Bering, my star West Coast advisor. I’ve heard a great deal about you both. And yet what I have heard lately has been rather… unflattering.”

****

To all appearances, Charles and Christina had no interest in the fact that Helena and Myka had entered the house. They were, seemingly, greatly absorbed in the football game. “Hooray!” Charles enthused.

“That was a flag for a false start,” Christina said. “If you’re going to try to fool them, you could at least wait until somebody runs a play.”

Helena said, “No one is fooling anyone.”

Christina did not turn around. “Is the kissing part over?”

“The kissing part is over,” Helena affirmed. “The pack one’s suitcase part now begins.”

“Need any help with that?” Myka offered, clearly with some hope.

“As I mentioned, the kissing part is over. For the time being.”

“Fine,” Myka said. “Christina, scoot a little closer to Charles. I don’t care about your game, but I am exhausted.”

Helena watched her collapse onto the sofa next to Christina in that familiar too-tall way. She then watched Christina look Myka up and down and pronounce, “Myka, you are a mess.”

Myka closed her eyes. “Maybe you should try sweeping your driveway.”

“Maybe you should try not rolling around on it.”

Myka said, “It’s not what I set out to do today, okay? It would not have been my first choice of venue, but you take what you can get.” She opened her eyes and looked to the far end of the sofa. “Hi, Charles. It wouldn’t really have been my first choice of venue to meet you, either.”

“Honestly,” Charles said, “I have no idea what to think of you.”

“Well, today, that makes two of us. I am not acting entirely like myself, I can tell you that.”

“You’ll see how that doesn’t help me know what to think of you.”

“It doesn’t seem to be helping me much either. In terms of thinking. Neither does the fact that Helena’s kind of out of her mind, right?”

“Your recognition of that is a point in your favor,” Charles said, far more seriously than Helena would have preferred. Myka offered him, and he returned, a gentle fist bump, directly over Christina’s head. And at that juncture Helena thought it might be best for her to pack her bag.

****

“You can’t possibly have heard anything unflattering about Myka,” Helena protests. “I understand that some things have been said about me and my colleague Steve Jinks, and about our organization, but none of that has to do with Myka.”

“Indeed? I have been told that she has behaved quite unprofessionally where you are concerned. I have been told that there have been client complaints.”

Myka says, “What? Oh my god, Dwayne. That morning, when I didn’t get back to him fast enough, he did file a complaint…. but that’s mostly because he’s Dwayne, and he—but you know what? It’s true, and it’s fair. I’ll accept that. Guilty. Mrs. Frederic, that is totally on me.”

“Not completely,” Helena says without thinking. “I neglected the alarm as well.”

Mrs. Frederic raises her eyebrows at both of them.

****

Helena realized that they were sitting in an airport together, about to board a plane together—and that they had not been in an airport together, about to board a plane (not actually together) since Chicago, some months ago. “I know you’ll somehow manage to steal any available upgrade,” she said to Myka. “But if you’d be so kind as to spare a thought for me, back in economy?”

“You delusional little lunatic. I should make you squirm, just for that comment. I should make you beg.”

“I might, if you gave me the opportunity. There might be all kinds of ways for me to… take it out in trade.”

“Oh, quit it,” Myka said mildly. “You already saw the boarding passes; you know where we’re sitting. And it’s due to my frequent flyer miles, by the way.”

Helena smiled. “Well. I’ll still need to, let’s say, thank you. For your generosity.”

“I could pretend that it’s generous, but I seriously am much better off with the legroom in first class. However. I have to say, this thanking idea? I feel… all kinds of good about that.” And Myka smiled back.

“I want you to feel all kinds of good. I genuinely do.”

Myka blinked. “That reminds me, I have to cancel a hotel room.” She took out her telephone.

“What? Why?”

“I thought you were just not talking to _me_ , at first, but then I realized you weren’t talking to _anyone_. I thought I might end up having to take Steve with me instead, and while I like him just fine, and I’m pretty sure he likes me, I don’t think he and I are ready to be roommates quite yet. So I reserved two.”

Helena said, slowly, “And now you think… we just need one?”

“Well, I assumed…” Helena watched with amusement as something very like panic found its way, in an instant, onto Myka’s face—and then she watched it leave just as quickly, as Myka shook her head and said, “Okay, yes, you got me. That was nicely done.”

“Thank you. So where exactly is our one room?”

“At first I was trying to guess where you’d been staying that time—I figured it was probably close to where we got that cab—but I was in a hurry, so I gave up and went with the place I like. It’s right near there. Is that okay?”

“It is if you like it.”

“I do. It’s close to one of my clients.”

“So is that why you were there? In all this time, I’ve never thought to ask you.”

“That’s why. You?”

“The same. We had created a hiring algorithm for a company owned by one of Caturanga’s friends. He was beginning to doubt its effectiveness—or rather, he was beginning to think he could make better decisions than the algorithm could.”

“Well, maybe he could.”

Helena frowned. “Are you trying to provoke me? Do not make me explain heuristics to you.”

“Of course I’m trying to provoke you. It’s like you don’t understand how our relationship works.”

“I’m not at all sure that it _does_ work,” Helena grumbled. But when Myka didn’t respond, she began to worry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

And Myka grinned. “Gotcha back.”

****

“In any case, Ms. Wells and Ms. Bering, you have come to tell me why I should retain Chessboard’s services. Why this experiment should continue. Have you not?”

“We have,” Helena says.

“I see why you wish to plead this case, Ms. Wells. But Ms. Bering, my understanding is that you yourself have made very clear that you have no need of such services. That you yourself would much prefer to pursue business as usual, and this regardless of any… personal association you may have formed with Ms. Wells.”

“That’s true,” Myka says.

****

On the plane, in their delightfully large first-class seats, Helena thought to give Myka at least a bit of a hard time: “I believe I might come to like sitting with you here at the front of the airplane better than glowering at you from thirty rows back.”

Myka had her bag on her lap and was pushing through various pockets. She said, idly, “I really should’ve tripped you when you walked past me.”

“Tripped me? You didn’t even notice me.”

“It’s true I didn’t see you on the first flight.” Myka said. “But on the second? It was all I could do not to look up at you. _All I could do_. I watched your legs go by. I kept thinking that if I tripped you, maybe you’d fall on me.”

“And what was supposed to happen then?”

“I’d like to be able to say I had some elaborate fantasy mapped out, but I honestly didn’t get much beyond tripping you. I was tired.” Myka’s face lit up, and she pulled a tube of lip balm out of her bag. She tucked it into the left front pocket of her jeans, then returned her attention to the bag’s interior.

Helena said, “So was I. In large part, thanks to Caturanga, who’d just sprung the news about your company on me. In full delight mode.”

“I enjoyed talking to him today. I mean, in the rare moments that I wasn’t thinking about how much I wanted to wrap my hands around your pretty neck. I do see what you mean about delight mode, though. He’s very… enthusiastic.”

“He is.”

“And he knows a lot about my business. I had no idea he started in the financial industry.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. Steve seemed kind of surprised to hear that too.”

“He did seem unusually invested in this project. And it happened so quickly, too, though he implied that that was because they—your corporate overlords—were so impressed with us. I know you thought I was unprepared… but that was because I was unprepared.”

Myka now pulled an energy bar of some sort out of the bag. This she placed in the seat pocket in front of her. “I think he likes sending people into situations with imperfect information. I think he likes to see what might happen.”

“I think you are very right about that.”

Her tablet escaped the bag next; it joined the energy bar. “I think he understands now that I am not the sort of person who enjoys that kind of thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“He kept getting my company name wrong.”

“Oh, he does that.”

“Right. But do you know why?”

“Because he’s a very strange little man?”

“Because that’s what he called the company when he started it.”

“What?” Imperfect information, Helena thought. Yes, Myka was right. Imperfect information.

“With our current CEO. Decades ago. And then they had some falling out, some people vs. data thing; that’s when Caturanga went to Stanford.”

Helena watched Myka take a yellow legal pad out and place it behind the tablet in the seat pocket. “But then why would Warehouse ever have hired Chessboard, given that history?”

“Because it was a history. Because they were going to try to reconcile the two… approaches, I guess. The initial agreement was some high-level thing between the two of them, but of course it’s a big company. All sorts of layers to get through.”

“But then how was Artie able to get us fired?”

A pen, a mechanical pencil: these were placed carefully and precisely on the tray of the armrest between Myka and Helena. “Well, those layers. Artie was telling people at several levels that Chessboard had misrepresented itself, that you and Steve personally had, because you actually were all about the data and manipulating and possibly even stealing it, I don’t know. That your supposedly progressive ideas were just about duping us into giving you access and compromising the firm… you know, starting with us out in L.A., and then worming your way into the larger organization. And there are a lot of people there who are uncomfortable with West Coast expansion anyway, so it made perfect sense that we would turn out to be this hotbed of exploitation.”

“But why would anyone fall for that?”

Myka chuckled. “Confirmation bias. It’s a heuristic. Do not make me explain heuristics to you.”

“I loathe you.”

“I _know_.” Myka leaned over to kiss her.

Helena could not bring herself to turn her head away, but she did say, once Myka had returned to her bag-scavenging task, “And the loathing is going to make it much easier for me to concentrate on putting together my presentation for tomorrow.”

“ _Our_ presentation.”

“Myka, if I thought for one minute you genuinely believed this to be a good idea—”

“Listen to me. I _wasn’t_ on your side before. But I am now.” A pack of gum—no, two sticks from a pack of gum; she returned the rest to the bag. She positioned the two sticks very carefully in front of the energy bar.

“Why now? Just because you and I—”

“No. I told you. I enjoyed talking to Caturanga. He’s very persuasive.”

“And I’m not?”

“You are incredibly persuasive, as you know perfectly well. But you’ve been busy persuading me about other things. Haven’t you? Even at the very start.”

“All right, yes,” Helena said. But the idea was as upsetting now as it had been then.

“Look. If we had been purely professional from the beginning, yes, I would have thought it wasn’t worth my time at first, but I’m sure that by now I’d be on all the social networks, and I’d be taking all the data you wanted to give me.” Myka paused, laughed a little. “That sounds awful.” When Helena didn’t offer an answering laugh, she went on, “Sorry. Anyway, if it had gone that way, Artie wouldn’t have thought I was on his side in the first place. And you wouldn’t have gotten fired, because he wouldn’t have been able to use me as a wedge.”

“So it’s my fault.”

“You are not _listening_. It’s _our_ fault. Maybe for falling for each other in the first place, maybe for taking so long to work it out. But I was busy resisting everything about you. And then when I couldn’t resist _you_ anymore, I thought, well, at least I can hold out professionally. Which was obviously ridiculous, but as I keep trying to explain, I lose my mind around you. Anyway, if it’s any consolation, you would have talked me into it eventually too.” Now a packet of tissues to the seat pocket; next two tablets from a small tin of ibuprofen to her jeans pocket.

“It’s very little consolation. What are you _doing?_ ” Helena finally demanded.

“I’m getting my stuff out. It’s a long flight, and I don’t want to have to go looking for anything I need. I want it all within arm’s reach.”

“That is insane.”

“Don’t knock my process. It got you a first-class upgrade.”

“What?”

“Everything I need. Arm’s reach.” And as if to prove it, she did indeed reach over and take Helena’s hand.

“It is still insane,” Helena complained. Halfheartedly.

“I’d say I would be happy to send you to a lovely seat in coach, because I bet there’s somebody back there who’d be thrilled to swap with you. But I don’t want to hold anybody else’s hand.” She dropped her bag on the floor and kicked it under the seat.

Helena gave in. “I don’t either.”

****

“That’s true,” Myka repeats to Mrs. Frederic. “I was very… resistant. But then I changed my mind.”

“Let us explain why,” Helena adds. “We hope to change yours also.”

Mrs. Frederic looks from one to the other, one to the other. Helena does not risk a glance at Myka as Mrs. Frederic looks from one to the other, one to the other. She finally says, “Very well. What have you to offer me?”

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

“Very well. What have you to offer me?” asks Mrs. Frederic.

“The future,” Helena says.

****

They flew first from L.A. to Philadelphia, their flying time a bit less than six hours.

A bit less than six hours, that was, to determine what to say to Mrs. Frederic. Myka told Helena that she had agreed to see them because “she and Jane were in the same sorority or something.”

“If Jane Lattimer is so close with the CEO, then why isn’t she coming along to help us make this particular persuasive argument?”

Myka shrugged. “I have imperfect information on that point.”

“I thought you didn’t enjoy that kind of thing.”

“Caturanga is one thing; Jane Lattimer is totally another,” said Myka.

“She did try to warn me,” Helena said. “Ages ago, before you and I…”

“Warn you about what?”

“Artie, I see now. I thought she meant you.”

Myka’s face became a study in confusion. “Me?”

“Yes. I suppose it’s part of why I… jumped to the conclusion I did. About your message.”

“She told you this ages ago, but you jumped to the conclusion, even after last night, with Christina, with… well, everything?”

“Yes.”

Helena didn’t know if Myka was hurt or angry as she asked, “You didn’t trust me?”

“I didn’t trust anything: you, me, my judgment. I thought I’d made a mistake.”

“With me?”

Helena was tempted to lie, but she said, “Yes.”

“Did it really feel like a mistake?” Now Myka did sound hurt, and that was far worse than angry.

“No,” Helena said, with urgency, because Myka needed to understand. “That was the problem. It felt perfect. It felt like I had been granted a glimpse, just one glimpse, of a perfect future… please don’t be upset. Or if you are, could you please be angry with me again?”

Myka’s expression softened. She shook her head. “No. Not after you say something like that, about a perfect future. But it’s funny you should put it that way. Do you know how Caturanga got at me?”

“Not really, no.”

“He started by asking me questions,” Myka said.

This made Helena laugh and say, “He fancies himself Socrates.” Then it made her wonder. “Tell me how that went, exactly.”

Myka recounted their conversation: Caturanga’s questions, her answers.

“I have an idea,” Helena said.

****

“The future,” Mrs. Frederic echoes, with a heavy air of skepticism.

“As Mr. Caturanga said to me…” Myka begins, then nods at Helena.

“Right, my line. As Caturanga said, ‘Ms. Bering, who are you to your clients?’” Helena is gratified when Mrs. Frederic chuckles at her Caturanga impression. She has always thought it rather good.

“I’m their advisor. I suggest the best ways for them to put their money to work.”

“Yes, but why do you do this?”

“So that they’ll have enough for what they need… for retirement, or a down payment on a house, or college for their kids or their grandkids.”

“And yet it is difficult for people to understand the full extent of these monetary needs, correct? Given that they face them not in the present moment, but only in the fullness of time?”

“Correct.”

“So, Ms. Bering,” says the faux-Caturanga, “I will ask you again: who are you to your clients?”

Myka says, with admirable conviction, “I’m the future.”

Mrs. Frederic, Helena notes, is leaning forward.

****

Helena called home from Philadelphia, to say goodnight to Christina, to ensure that the house was still standing, to let Charles reassure her that bedtime would be achieved as soon as the football game ended. Then Christina grabbed the phone back from her uncle and said, “Can I talk to Myka, may I talk to Myka?” Helena mouthed “she wants to talk to you,” and Myka shrugged and reached for the phone.

“Hey, Christina. What’s up? …I have not checked the scores. …That’s great for your Broncos. … Okay, my Broncos too, though why do they have to be mine just because I’m from Colorado? Because by that logic, you should like the Niners or the Raiders or the Chargers, and you know what, I think it was a little mean, what you said about your mom being stupid for living in a city without an NFL team. Look, she is not the one who moved the Rams—what? …Okay, you’re right: to be fair, I don’t know that for a fact. I will swear her in on the Bible in the hotel room and check it out, okay? but I will bet you a dollar—”

“No betting,” Helena interrupted, “and she knows why.”

“Okay, apparently I will not bet you a dollar, and your mom says you know why. …You did _what_?” Myka turned to Helena. “She seriously won three hundred dollars from Charles and Steve at poker? Oh my god.” She put her mouth back to the phone “You awesome little prodigy. The minute you turn twenty-one, you and I are going to Vegas, and we are going to clean that place out, do you hear me? Or maybe we’ll stay in town and clean out Pete and Pete’s mom and Claudia and Abigail, but either way, I—what? … No, honey, I will not get you a fake ID.” She mouthed to Helena “she wants to go now.” “And Pete and Claudia wouldn’t card you, but Abigail might, and Pete’s mom certainly would, so that game’s out too.” She listened for a moment, then said to Helena, “She wants to know if it’s okay if we all just play for pretzels.”

Helena said, “We’ll talk about it.”

“Your mom says we’ll talk about it. … Yes, I know that means no, because I’ve met your mom too. … Yes, I will try to talk her into it, but— ….I see that a fondness for extortion runs in your family. I did not know that was genetic. … Christina, I am way too tired to talk about genetic versus epigenetic heritability, and if you start— … well, you’re right, that _is_ interesting, but I don’t actually want to lick a rat pup.”

“What?” Helena asked, startled.

“It’s apparently a nurturing thing,” Myka told her. To Christina, she said, “In fact, I didn’t know that the babies were called pups, so… And bats? Okay. And— …What? Christina. Honey. Could you maybe write them all down in a list and email it to me? I swear to god I’ll read it, okay? …Yes, you _may_ quiz me to make sure I did. I’m already clear on the rats and bats, though. …and yes, okay, tell Charles that I said you could do it before you go to bed.” Myka looked at Helena with that “oops, sorry” expression, but Helena couldn’t keep herself from just nodding an okay. “But then I’m pretty sure you do have to go to bed, and I’m going to make your mom tell you that too, okay? Okay, honey, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She handed Helena the phone.

Helena said more words about bedtime and goodnight, but on another, louder track, her mind played and replayed and replayed Myka saying, “Okay, honey, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Rather than call attention to that, however, Helena said, “Bedtime is so fraught these days. We read, then she makes arguments regarding inappropriateness of the rules. Fortunately the studies are all in my favor on this point. I’m impressed that you were able to get her to agree to your terms on any level.”

“Well,” Myka said, “I’m new. I’m different.”

“Yes, you are new. And you’re certainly _different_.”

Myka gave a weak chortle. “So’s she. Things I learned in the past ten minutes: baby platypuses are called puggles. Baby bats _and_ rats are called pups. Licking rat pups causes all kinds of epigenetic changes. In the pups, I mean. You may or may not have been responsible for the Rams’ move to St. Louis.” She chortled a bit more strongly. “Ooh, plus the actually very exciting fact that I am never going to get thrown out of a casino again, because there’ll be two of us.”

“When you both are thrown in jail for some sort of conspiracy to commit poker fraud, I will not bail you out,” Helena said. “Speaking of crime, what was the extortion?”

“Oh. Right. If I talk you into letting her play poker with pretzels—or maybe it was if I talk you into the fake ID; I’m not entirely clear on that point—she will remove any and all objections she may have to my kissing you in the driveway. Or maybe everywhere? I’m not sure about that either. It was a lot of information to take in, and I really am pretty tired.”

“Poor thing,” Helena said.

“Yes. Poor me. You know, I don’t understand this at all, but talking to your kid makes me want to kiss you.”

And then Myka was indeed kissing her again, right in front of gate F36 at Philadelphia International Airport, and Helena vaguely remembered something Claudia had said about Myka disliking public displays of affection, but that couldn’t have been right, because here they were in the airport, with the public all around them, and their display of affection for each other must have been apparent to any member of that public who cared to look.

****

Helena says, as herself, “Money travels through time. But it can do that only when people understand that they need it to do so—in effect, that they need Myka, or someone, to be waiting for them in ten, twenty, thirty years’ time, handing them that money. And the way in which individuals come to that understanding—or an understanding of anything at all—is undergoing radical change.”

“And don’t think I’m particularly thrilled about that, by the way,” Myka adds. “I thought it meant Twitter.”

“There are over 270 million monthly active Twitter users,” Helena says. “Used properly, the service has an enormous reach and provides a wealth of information. But believe me when I tell you that Twitter qua Twitter does not matter; whether Pete Lattimer can, under Warehouse’s auspices, tweet about his lunch, or find tips on where to have lunch, is neither here nor there. What matters is the difference between here and there, and whether your advisors can convince their clients of the safety of that journey.”

Mrs. Frederic says, “You are correct, Ms. Wells, about the role of my advisors in their clients’ lives and finances. And yet what part do _you_ intend to play in all of this… monetary time travel?”

****

By the time they snaked through the cab line at LaGuardia and were on their way to the hotel, it was well after midnight.

In this cab, Helena was pleased to discover, the audio could be muted. “Do you feel a need to call Claudia?” she asked Myka.

“If I weren’t so tired, and if we weren’t in a semi-public space, I would tell you exactly what I feel a need to do. And it is completely unrelated to calling Claudia.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “That’s a lie. It’s actually a tiny bit related, because I have already done certain things to you, some of which are involved in what I feel a need to do now, on my desk. From which I often call Claudia.”

“That almost made sense,” Helena assured her.

“Good. Maybe that means I’ll be able to check us into the hotel, too.”

She did check them into the hotel, a boutique with a tiny lobby but spacious elevators. They stood at a middling distance from each other on the way up. “The room should have a view this time,” Myka said. “Manhattan skyline, if I get what I asked for.”

“I don’t care.” Helena realized that must have sounded ungrateful. “I’m sorry. I do care; I care that you thought of it. Thank you.” And she leaned over to kiss Myka’s cheek.

Myka gave her a suggestion of a smile. “It’s okay. How about I take it as a compliment?”

“How about you do that,” Helena said.

And yet once again, this time despite the public displays in the driveway, on the plane, in the airport; despite the cab ride; despite the elevator—once they reached the room, once the deadbolt was thrown, when at last something could happen—nothing happened. Myka set her bag down and looked around, walked to the window, looked out. “Skyline. That’s okay,” she said.

“Am I doing something wrong?” Helena asked. “Do I walk into hotel rooms incorrectly? What is it about that door closing behind us?”

Myka said, still looking at the skyline, “You don’t do anything wrong. I’m the idiot, because just like last time, I started thinking, and I feel like I made you promises… it’s the follow-through, I told you. You make me nervous. I want to be… right for you. Good for you. Enough for you.” She turned around. “In my head, so much of the time, I’m thinking about what we _might_ do, but then we get into a situation where we _could_ … where we _would_ … and, I mean, here we are.”

“Yes, here we are.” Helena wondered if she would have to start another fight, considered the provocation of perhaps bringing up Twitter, then decided against it. Decided that she would rather brush her teeth and go to sleep, if that was what happened, than continue some pattern they would never be able to get out of. “Give me a minute. I want to wash my face.’

She emerged from the bathroom to find Myka, shed of sweatshirt and shoes, lying on the bed, propped low against pillows.

Helena stretched out too, put her head on Myka’s shoulder, felt Myka’s arm curl around her neck. “Is this all right?” she asked. “It’s a big bed. I don’t mean to crowd you.”

“It’s very all right,” Myka said. She stretched her legs out further.

Helena laughed quietly, just enough so she could be sure Myka heard and felt her do it. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice you still have your orange socks on. Going through security, even, with your shoes off. Were you honestly up all last night?”

“Not all. I fell asleep for a little while, but then, you know, the East Coast woke up, and I could start calling people out here. I need to see my clients, by the way, if I can. While we’re here.”

“Are your other clients near here as well? “

“No, one’s out on Staten Island, and one’s in Midtown.”

Helena was no New Yorker, but this made no geographic sense to her. “So it’s just for the one here that you fly into and out of LaGuardia?”

“Not exactly.”

Something in Myka’s tone, something in her tone… “All right. Why _do_ you fly into and out of LaGuardia?”

And now the tone clarified: it was embarrassment. Myka said, “Habit.”

Helena pushed herself up on an elbow so she could look Myka in the eyes. “Habit?”

And Myka in turn, avoiding her eyes, said, “Well, I used to… stay in Flushing. When I would… come here.”

“To New York.”

“Right.”

In complete and total exasperation, Helena said, “Would you please tell me what you’re not telling me?”

“It’s where Abigail’s from,” Myka said quickly.

“Flushing?”

“Right.”

“So you… wait,” Helena said, and suddenly _several_ things she had observed seemed to make sense. “You’re telling me that you and _Abigail_ —”

The force of Myka’s response nearly knocked Helena off her shoulder. “No! God, no. No. What happened was, Jane wanted more women at Warehouse. So she talked me into it, and Abigail—I forget which company she was with back then. But so we started at the same time, and we got to be pretty good friends. And her family was going to take this big trip to China, and I always wanted to go to China, so she invited me to go too. Her parents and her sister, Violet, and Violet’s son Paul, who was… six? I think Paul was six then. They all came out to L.A. from Flushing, and we all went to China. For a little over three weeks.”

Helena ventured, “Terracotta army?”

“Yeah,” Myka said with a nod.

“Three weeks is a long time.”

“It is,” Myka agreed.

“And you have the horse. So you must have enjoyed it.” Helena did not want to jump to any conclusions, but there was one conclusion that she could see, and it was both an illuminating light and, she felt, an oncoming train.

Myka was nodding again. “I did enjoy it. The trip was great. Because Abigail and I were such good friends, and her parents are great, but also… well. I think you can see where this is going.” She took a breath, and Helena knew she was right. “Violet and I… got along really well. Abigail had thought we would. That trip was…”

“I see. It was… enjoyable.”

Myka pushed herself to sit up. She looked back and down at Helena. “I’m not going to lie to you. It was. But I didn’t know it was going to become… anyway, I would come here to New York, because I do, because like I said, I have clients here, and they have a lot of money, and I would like to keep them. And after the China trip, the first time, I stayed with Violet, with her and Paul, because of what had happened in China. And then after that, I… felt weirdly obligated. And it wasn’t that I didn’t _want_ to, necessarily… but then one time I was here on a weekend, and Paul really did have a soccer game, like I told you. And we were at the game, and Violet said, and it felt like completely out of the blue, why don’t you move here. And I laughed. And then I made the mistake of pointing out that I had never come to New York when I didn’t have to. And you can imagine how well things went after that.”

“Yes. Yes I can,” Helena said, re-experiencing the cold hardness of Myka’s initial “no” to the idea of Christina. The estranging pain of it had begun to fade, but now she thought it would be a very good idea to keep it very clearly in mind.

“I did not handle it well at all,” Myka said. Now she pushed herself off the bed and started to pace. “There were a lot of hurt feelings—primarily, of course, Violet’s, but also Paul’s. I had been around for a while, well over a year, on and off, and then I had to tell him that I wasn’t going to be. He didn’t understand, and I… I did it all wrong.” She stopped her pacing at the foot of the bed and looked at Helena, looked at her and seemed to be reminded of that “no” too. “That’s why… look, I really didn’t want to do it all wrong again, and I thought I might. But that was when I still had some wild idea about being able to resist this. Resist _you_.”

Helena did not know if she should be pleased by this or worried. “I don’t want to become an obligation.”

Myka smiled. “I think I am pretty clear on the fact that I don’t have a whole lot of choice in the matter anymore.”

“Obviously you can do what you want,” Helena said. If Myka was doing this because she felt she had no choice, then what would happen when one day she felt like she did once again have a choice? “It isn’t really fate.”

“Isn’t it? The cab, the hotels, LGA, Chessboard. I really feel like we have been _hugely_ set up.” She practically leapt into a seated position at the edge of the bed, long legs folded under her.

Helena rolled her eyes. “Oh, get up. I am not a jaguar.”

“I think you underestimate yourself. Anyway, I’m getting very good at the sitting down part. The reconciling’s taking a little longer, but I’m working on it.”

“And just how reconciled are you?”

“Two months ago, I’d’ve _sued_ fate for getting me into this mess.” But she was smiling.

“Mess,” Helena said.

“ _Now_ I would send fate a fruit basket. I would sign fate up for the fruit-of-the-month club.”

“Do you honestly think fate likes fruit that much?”

Myka nodded solemnly. “Fate leaves banana peels _everywhere_.”

Helena blurted, “How have you and Christina survived without each other for so long?”

“Well, don’t tell her this, but I’m starting to wonder that myself.”

“Don’t tell her? Why not?”

“I don’t want it to go to her head.”

And Helena could not have explained to anyone what she felt then: she wanted to cry, to laugh, to exclaim. But she also wanted to throw her fists at something, for she was thinking now about Myka with someone else, someone who looked like Abigail (since she did not know what Abigail’s sister looked like), someone with whom Myka would be familiar enough to stay at her apartment, to go to her son’s soccer games… and the savagery of her jealousy in the face of this situation came as a shock. It was a shock, but as the sting of it settled in, she realized it was not a surprise, not really; she needed to start understanding just how fast this was happening, how fast and how much. And whether that was good or bad, she didn’t know. All she knew was that it _was_.

****

Helena says, “You ask me my part. I would begin to answer by saying that no one can be the future if they are relying upon the certainty and security of well-established patterns. That is, if they are facing in the wrong direction.”

Mrs. Frederic stands. “Ms. Wells,” she says, in a tone that suggests that Helena has begun to lose the war. “It has been my experience that what most people seek, when faced with uncertainty, is safety. For their assets and everything else.”

Myka heard the tone, for she says quickly, “Yes, they do. And they find safety in structure. In… orderliness. But Mrs. Frederic, the future is not orderly. And it is not safe.”

Helena wants to kiss her, but instead she tells Mrs. Frederic, “Those who want to feel that they are in full control—those who want to preserve that illusion—will have no need of anyone in your profession. In fact, today, they are unlikely to have need of anyone at all. The Internet provides plenty of resources to serve those who prefer such safety.”

“You seem to be suggesting that my firm is already obsolete,” Mrs. Frederic sniffs. But she sits back down.

“That is not so,” Helena says. “A great number of people need to be reminded, regularly, that the future exists; a great number of people who have resources in the present need to be convinced to send money forward through time, to their future selves. What you need is to know who these people are; you need to know _where_ they are—and you need to reach them there. If your work is to be profitable in this age of relentless downward pressure on fees, you need to reach increasingly large numbers of them. My role is to help you do that.”

Myka says, “And Mrs. Frederic… that’s because she’s the future, too.”

“Myka helps her clients’ money travel through time. My goal has always been to help your organization do the same.”

****

“Are you all right?” Myka asked. “Your face… I’ve never seen you look like this before.”

“I’ve never felt like this before,” Helena said.

“Like what?”

“Like I want to shout at someone I’ve never met that you’re mine and she can’t have you. But I want to apologize to her too, because why should I have you and she not? Why should it be Christina and not Paul?” A horrible thought occurred to her. “What did you call him?”

“Paul? I called him Paul. Actually, I called him Small Paul when I met him, because he really was tiny, but then he started growing, so I called him Tall Paul, and it turns out there’s some song from the fifties called that, but really, it was just because it rhymes… oh my god, Pete’s right. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Did you call him ‘honey’?”

“Who, Pete? Why would I call Pete—”

“I mean it, Myka.”

“No. No, I didn’t.”

“Then I feel guilty as well. I feel jealous, and I feel guilty.”

“It’s the past. I didn’t leave her for you, or even for the idea that somebody like you was somewhere out there. I left her for me—selfishly. Completely selfishly. I was the one who hurt her, hurt him. Don’t feel guilty. Don’t feel jealous.”

As Myka said the word, Helena’s jealousy, which had ceded some ground to guilt, began to gain the upper hand again. “She touched you.”

“It’s the past,” Myka said again. “The past. Helena, she’s not pining for me. She has someone else. That’s what it showed her: that she wanted someone. I thought it showed me that I didn’t want anyone.”

“With their dirty paws,” Helena said, with bitterness.

“With their dirty paws. And their knockout mice and Denver Broncos and apparently there’s a tap recital coming up?”

“I know. You just met her yesterday. It’s too much.” It had to be too much.

But Myka laughed. “ _You’re_ too much, and I met you months ago. I told you: I don’t know how this happened. I have imperfect information on this point, too.”

“You said you don’t enjoy that,” Helena reminded her.

“Hey,” Myka said. “I forgot to show you.” She reached behind her to the room’s desk—it was not a long reach; the room was quite narrow—and took up her phone. She punched at the screen, then turned it around to show Helena.

It was the Twitter account of @MykaBeringWHF.

“Should I tweet something?” Myka asked, clearly aiming for some sort of playful nonchalance. “How about ‘I don’t enjoy having imperfect information’? And then some hashtag like ‘asthewomanIlovewillneverletmeforgetIsaidontheplanethisafternoon’?”

Helena could barely speak. “Shut up. Put that away.”

“Now @MykaBeringWHF is tweeting ‘She would not give it a rest about this Twitter business, but now I’m supposed to put it away.’ Hashtag ‘makeupyourmind’?”

“Put it away.”

“In the interest of more-perfect information, I have to admit that Christina helped me set it up this morning, while you were packing your suitcase. Kids today, I tell you, focusing on all their screens. She was yelling at Peyton on the TV while she set up Twitter on my phone—remind me to change my password, by the way, because otherwise Warehouse’s tweeting is probably going to involve a lot of Omaha—and I think she could’ve easily played speed chess online at the same time. In fact I should check the browsing history on this thing; the Twitter setup did seem to take her a while.”

“I told you to put it away.” Helena crawled toward Myka at the end of the bed and took the phone from her. She reached to set it on the desk—Myka kept her from toppling forward with a very light, but very hot, hand on her ribcage—and then put her arms around Myka’s neck. She could feel herself trembling slightly, in her arms, in her heart. Her body did not know what to do.  

Myka looked up at her. “Well. If I’d known this would be the response, I’d’ve started this Twitter business ages ago.”

“No you wouldn’t. No you wouldn’t,” Helena said, and she couldn’t control her breathing at all, couldn’t control any emotion, felt herself very near to sobbing.

“All right, that’s true,” Myka said softly. She unfolded her legs, pushing both their bodies forward and up the length of the bed. She leaned down for a kiss, and Helena felt it waking up her entire body, but for the first time, also, there was a real safety in it, an idea of something like electrified peace. Myka raised her mouth from Helena’s and said, “I think things are happening exactly when they need to happen.”

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

When Helena came back to her senses, she realized she was in pain—not any sort that might have been associated with the pleasure of what she and Myka had just done, but real pain. “My elbow hurts,” she said to Myka, who had moved back up to rest against her left side. “I think I re-skinned it on the sheets.”

Myka put one kiss directly below Helena’s ear, then pushed and held herself up on her own right elbow to examine the arm being offered for her inspection. “That does look kind of bad—ow!” she yelped, and collapsed back down to Helena’s side.

“What’s wrong? Some kind of sympathetic pain?”

“No, my shoulder hurts. It feels like I sprained it.”

“I don’t know what could have happened to sprain your shoulder. You didn’t really do much… ah… arm work.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining about the work I was doing.” She ran her tongue over Helena’s left biceps—the body part closest to her mouth.

“It’s not a complaint,” Helena said, and she kissed the top of Myka’s head in return. “Just an observation. I think you’re aware of how much I enjoyed your… work.”

Myka sat up, leaned back against the headboard, and moved her right arm around. “There is definitely something wrong with it. Did I carry my bag weird in the airport? What have I done that’s out of the ordinary?”

Helena looked up at her.

“With my _arm_.”

Helena continued to look at her, until at last comprehension crossed Myka’s face. “Oh my god,” she said.

Helena shrugged. “Perhaps you should have let her win.”

“Doesn’t that send the wrong message to kids, or something like that? Aren’t they supposed to learn how to… do things?”

“She does seem to have learned how to hurt your arm.”

“Well, you’re going to suffer for it too, because I guess that means not much arm work for the next little while.”

“Are you at all ambidextrous?” Helena meant it as a joke, but it seemed to emerge pathetically seriously, as if she were imploring…

And Myka must have taken it that way, because she said, equally seriously, “Let’s see…” She leaned across Helena’s body, and with her left index finger began to trace a path from Helena’s right shoulder down her arm. She moved carefully around the abrasion on the elbow, murmured “Reasonably dexterous?”, and kept moving downward.

Helena protested, “You really shouldn’t start something else. We don’t have time. Did you ask for a wake-up call?”

“I did. But do you know what is kind of exciting?”

“What you just did with… pardon me, are continuing to do with, your hand… is more than ‘kind of’ exciting.” Because now the hand was at Helena’s hip, and Myka seemed unlikely to stop there…

“That’s good to hear. That’s very good to hear.” The hand did stop, briefly, and Helena could not keep herself from making what seemed to be yet another pathetically imploring noise. “So’s that. But what I meant was, it’s kind of exciting that we can stay in bed until a _normal_ early hour of the morning.”

“Because we’re on the East Coast.”

“Because we’re on the East Coast,” Myka affirmed. As if in reward, her hand began to move again.

“I _love_ the East Coast,” Helena said fervently.

“I think current circumstances are affecting your judgment. There’s nothing wrong with California, except its time zone.”

“There is everything wrong with California, including its time zone. Read a… yes, right _there, please_ … read a newspaper.”

“How old-fashioned. Anyway, you are going to change your tune when we are doing this in California.”

“And when… are we going to have time to do this?”

“You think I haven’t thought this through, but I have. Move your legs over towards me; I need leverage, and I can’t hold myself up on my shoulder.”

“What does that have to do with having time to do this?” But Helena was quick to move as instructed.

“That’s what I thought through. And what I came up with was, we are going to take very long lunch hours at my apartment. Why do you think I live downtown?”

“So you can seduce women once the market closes?”

“I should say yes. Sit up a little more.”

Helena sat up a little more. “I might believe you. You pretend to lack self-confidence, but you’re _very_ good at this. Left-handed, even.”

“I think you’re not really in a position to be objective, but thank you. Maybe I actually am left-handed and never knew it.”

“Maybe you’re just left-handed in bed.”

“I suppose that’s possible. We’ll have to check it out. That’s it—we’ll call our lunches ‘research.’”

Helena was finding it difficult to put together genuinely coherent thought, but she had to protest; she couldn’t let Myka think they could really… “You know that can’t actually happen.”

“I don’t want to go crazy, but I do think we need to get to know each other in a lot of ways. I think this is one of them.” She laughed, a vibration that was now very close to Helena’s ear, given that Helena was practically in her lap. “We’ll just have to be careful not to get busted.”

“Super-busted.”

“That too. Helena, we need time.” She drew the word out slightly, just a bit, to match the movement of her hand. “We haven’t had any time.” Again, the long word, the long stroke. “It’s happened so fast, and that’s all right, but we need all kinds of time.” Again, and Helena began to shudder. “This is one kind of time.”  The repetition was enthralling, almost as intoxicating as Myka’s touch. “We need to find time…” and the argument for this that Myka was making with her fingers… “make time…” with the palm of her hand… “spend time…”, that argument was irresistible, and Helena knew that she would not hear “time” without thinking of _this_ , _this_ use, _this_ expenditure.

As soon as she was able, Helena tried to reciprocate, saying, “Speaking of time, you seemed to have a very good time earlier, and you might again…” but they were exhausted, Myka particularly so, and Helena was the one now who apologized; she said, “If I hadn’t been so foolish, you wouldn’t have been awake all last night” and Myka replied, “but then we might not be here at all, and I wouldn’t have given this up for anything.” But she over and over again lost her concentration, said “I’m so tired, I’m so sorry,” drifted away. It seemed almost cruel to keep trying, and Helena at last gave up. She felt Myka’s body slacken against her. And even then, Helena was not surprised when the last thing she heard Myka say, before she fell asleep, was “sorry.”

****

“We will not be successful with each and every idea,” Helena tells Mrs. Frederic. “Information is imperfect; predictions can be very wrong. But you can see that just as you were right in some of your predictions, so was Caturanga in some of his. The point is not to stop.”

Myka says, “I, e.g., have a Twitter account now.”

Mrs. Frederic says, “I thought this was not about Twitter qua Twitter.”

“It’s symbolic,” Helena tells her.

“It’s _really_ symbolic,” Myka adds.

Mrs. Frederic leans back in her chair. “If I reverse the company’s decision, how do you think that makes me look?”

Myka laughs. “Like someone who has a lovely apartment in downtown L.A. but understands that there comes a point at which you have to get on the 405 and drive to Encino.”

Mrs. Frederic says, “I have not spent much time in Los Angeles”—she pronounces it “Angeleez,” which had taken Helena years to train herself out of doing—“so I am not sure I understand that analogy. I can tell you that there are a great many cautious people in this organization. People who would avoid driving on your freeways at all cost.”

“Mrs. Frederic,” Myka says solemnly, “I am pretty sure I don’t need to tell you that you outrank every single one of them.”

****

They woke up to the ringing of the room’s telephone, right on time. It was nothing at all like their first morning together, because they looked at each other, and suddenly it was very important to be touching each other, and they didn’t kiss, but they breathed into each other’s necks, and whatever the problems had been with elbows and shoulders were completely unimportant, and Helena finally fell against Myka, saying “Oh god that was wonderful, did you…?”

And Myka said, “yes, ages ago, but I’m glad you finally did too,” and that made Helena slide away and hide her face against a pillow, and then Myka was draped over her back, and she said, “I’m teasing, I’m sorry, but even it had been ages ago, god, what difference would that make, because you are glorious and I told you last night, everything is happening exactly when it needs to.”

They lay together for a moment, calm and familiar. Then Helena said, “We should get up. You need to move.”

“Make me,” Myka said.

Helena tried, but Myka stayed where she was, and finally Helena had to conclude, “I was wrong to criticize your fitness. I can’t possibly do a pushup with you on my back.”

“That’s okay. For future reference, my arms are pretty long.”

“You make it very difficult for me to breathe.”

“Am I that heavy? I’m sorry.”

She started to get up, and Helena said, “I did make you move, so I suppose I should say, good for me. But one, it doesn’t feel at all good for me, and two, that wasn’t what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“I think you should figure it out for yourself.”

They took their time getting dressed, getting downstairs, getting a cab. The minute they closed the car door, they both began to laugh.

“Is there ever going to be a time when it isn’t funny for us to be in a cab together?” Myka asked.

“I’m sure that one day we’ll be in a hurry and we won’t even think about it,” Helena said.

“This is not that day,” Myka said. “And just to top it off, I really should call Claudia.”

“Of course. But I’ll be thinking about your desk the entire time.”

That earned her a kiss; then Myka placed the call. “Hey Claudia, what’s happening? Wait, let me put you on speaker, so Helena can hear too.”

Claudia said, “Hey, H.G.”

“Hello, Claudia. How are you?”

“How am I, yeah, good question…. you’re big pimpin’, or whatever you personally do, up in NYC, while the rest of us are out here dealing with Hurricane Arturo.”

Myka asked, “Is it really bad?”

“Let me put it to you this way. Do you remember the Pomona day?”

“Pretty well, actually,” Myka said.

“Okay, good. Fix that in your mind… and then forget it, because comparatively? Nothing happened that day. Nothing at all.”

Helena said, “That is not encouraging.”

“Really, H.G.? ‘Not encouraging’? I am writing that interpretation down right now, just so I can submit it to some ‘understatement of the year’ contest. It’s these ‘not encouraging’ days that make me happy to come work in the morning, I’ll tell you that.”

Myka said, “I told you that you could stay home today, if you thought it would be too bad.”

“Myka, I think you are a great person. I really do. But I also think that if you get fired, I am still going to have to come to work in the morning, even on bad mornings, so that I can pay my rent.”

Myka sighed. “I am not getting fired. My production is higher than everyone in that office, _including_ Artie. Nobody is getting fired, and that goes double for the very pretty understater in this cab with me.”

Claudia said, “I hope that’s true. I miss Steve. Liam misses him too. I think Pete might miss him the most, though. He’s been saying to everybody today ‘who saw those Cleveland Browns coming, huh?’ and not getting any kind of answers that make him happy. Only Steve would have seen the Browns coming. Or not seen them; even I’m not sure what the right answer is.”

“Tell him to call Christina once the school day ends,” Helena offered.

“He’ll be napping at home by then.”

Myka said, “Jane doesn’t let him do that anymore.”

“Today she won’t know about it. Today I think she’ll still be in Artie’s office.”

“Why is she in Artie’s office?” Myka asked.

“Well, the carrier pigeons they’ve been sending out to keep me updated all say that _it might have something to do with the fact that you are in New York, Myka_.”

“Oh. Right.”

“And it wasn’t gonna be _me_ who kept him from having a heart attack about that, and Pete gives him heart attacks anyway, and Liam couldn’t talk his way out of a paper bag without a PowerPoint deck to light the way, and Abigail thinks the whole thing is one big performance art piece and hasn’t stopped laughing, except to talk to clients, since five thirty this morning. That’s why Jane’s in Artie’s office. At least I’m pretty sure. Maybe they’re trying to figure out who saw those Cleveland Browns coming.”

Helena said, “I neither saw them nor heard them.”

Myka gave her a gentle push on the shoulder. “That’s because you don’t listen to your messages. I bet they left one for you.”

Helena considered giving her an answering shoulder-push, but she was on Myka’s right side, and besides, she had to be honest: “That is a reasonable shot. I will accept it.”

The voice from the speaker managed to be both sarcastic and genuine as it said, “I’m glad you guys are having a fun little vacation or whatever.”

“It ends in just a minute, Claudia,” Myka said. “We’re getting close to Warehouse.”

“Okay. Well, break a leg. Because… it’s probably not my place to say this, but it’s been better than usual around here lately, you know? I don’t want to give that up yet.”

“We don’t either, Claudia,” Helena said.

“No, we don’t,” said Myka. She squeezed Helena’s hand.

****

Mrs. Frederic says, with quite commanding hauteur, “I outrank _you_ , Ms. Bering, yet I seem to be getting a great deal of pushback on a decision.”

“I see your point,” Myka hurries to say, “but Mrs. Frederic, that you were willing to work with Chessboard in the first place suggests that you wanted some sort of change.”

“Not change that would destroy the organization, as your Mr. Nielsen and several people in this building believe is likely to happen.”

Helena is beginning to feel that she has had enough. “Mrs. Frederic, Artie can insinuate all he wants about Chessboard’s motives, about my relationship with Myka, about whether the destruction of anything—your company, your industry, civilization itself—is imminent because of those motives and/or that relationship. But I would rather deal in facts. Consider this: Pete Lattimer’s production has risen 20 percent in two months.”

Myka’s mouth drops open. “It has?”

Helena ignores her. “Abigail Cho has brought in enough new money that her assets under management now equal Artie’s.”

Myka continues to gape. “They do?”

Helena turns to Myka. “Would you please stop sounding surprised?”

“But I _am_ surprised.”

Helena snaps, a bit more testily than she would prefer, “I _told you_ I had numbers. If you would _listen_ from time to time.”

Mrs. Frederic asks, “Is this another act? Should Ms. Bering be doing an impression of Mr. Nielsen?”

“It’s not an act,” Myka says. She still sounds surprised.

Helena says, “I wish it were.”

Mrs. Frederic, at least, looks pleased. “In any case. Those numbers sound very encouraging,” she says.

Helena does not want to get ahead of herself, of the situation, of anything. “As all your investment materials proclaim, past performance is no guarantee of future results. But I believe that with your endorsement, my colleague Steve Jinks and I can continue to make a positive difference.”

“You know, Ms. Bering,” Mrs. Frederic says, contemplatively, “you might consider working a bit more closely with Ms. Wells yourself.”

Myka’s jaw drops again—but it is slightly less of a gawk this time, and then it turns into a smile. “Mrs. Frederic, was that a joke?”

Mrs. Frederic sighs. “Not a very good one, I’m afraid. But Jane did say that you would be able to stand up to a bit of mockery.”

Helena is not sure she heard correctly. “Wait, what?”

“She was right about the both of you,” Mrs. Frederic says.

“What?” Myka says, looking like she wants to shake water out of her ears. “Right about what?”

“You both did very well.”

“Thank you?” Myka says. She looks at Helena with an expression that mixes panic, bewilderment, and a slight bit of pride. Helena is sure that she is looking at Myka the same way.

They both turn back to Mrs. Frederic when she speaks. “I had already substantially made up my mind after Jane’s call yesterday. But she thought it a good idea, after speaking with you, Ms. Bering, for you and Ms. Wells to work for, and receive, credit for my decision as well. She believes it will help matters when you return to Los Angeles. You will need to make your peace with Mr. Nielsen, of course, but it is better if you do so from a position of relative power.”

Myka shakes her head, starts to smile again. “So the act was really all you, Mrs. Frederic. Wasn’t it.”

Mrs. Frederic herself becomes a bit more stern, possibly to hide the beginning of a smile. “Not entirely. Before I recommitted fully to the project, I wanted to see what you had to offer. And as I said, you did very well. My chief recommendation is that both of you take steps to limit the amount of time you spend gazing adoringly at each other; Mr. Nielsen was certainly correct about that.”

“I will absolutely work on that,” Helena promises.

Myka says, “Is it all right if I say I don’t _want_ to work on that?”

“Ms. Bering, what you want is not the issue here. Or perhaps it is. In any case, you _will_ work on that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Myka says.

“Very good. Now go back to Los Angeles, where Jane Lattimer is most likely even now explaining to Mr. Nielsen why he did not get his way. Ms. Wells, can I count on you to ensure that Ms. Bering’s new Twitter account will be worth my follow?”

It is Helena’s turn: “Yes, ma’am.”

“And Ms. Bering, you will take her advice in this and other matters regarding social media?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They say their farewells, offering Mrs. Frederic profuse thanks, which she ceremoniously accepts.

As they leave the office, Helena whispers to Myka, “You are a liar.”

Myka waits until they are through the reception area, out in the hallway, heading for the elevator. Then she turns on Helena and says, “What do you mean? I am absolutely not a liar!”

“As if you have ever taken my advice regarding anything at all. As if you have any plan at all to start now.”

“Well, fine, then, you’re a liar too.”

 “What do _you_ mean? I most certainly _will_ ensure that you are worth following. Or I will die in the attempt.”

“Not that. The other thing. You absolutely will not take steps to limit the amount of time you spend gazing adoringly at me, because if you do, I will break up with you.”

“That’s quite the conundrum for me, then,” Helena says. But she realizes, in this moment, that Myka is in fact gazing adoringly at her, and that she must be doing the same… “You win,” she says. “I’m a liar.”

“You win too,” Myka tells her. “Because on that point? So am I.”

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

Myka sees two of her clients in New York; Helena stops in to visit one of Caturanga’s colleagues. In the late afternoon, they fly to Washington, D.C., congratulating each other on having accomplished a surprising amount for a stay of less than twenty-four hours; shortly thereafter, they are at last en route to Los Angeles, and Myka is saying “I’m glad we have this long flight; I had Claudia send me all those analyst reports I was supposed to get to over the weekend, so this is perfect.”

That is one of the last things Helena remembers hearing before the pilot, whose voice seems to emerge out of absolutely nowhere, announces that they are passing over the Rockies.  She opens her eyes to see that the announcement has had no effect whatsoever on Myka, who appears completely asleep, her head bent so far, and so awkwardly, over as to be resting on her own shoulder. Helena experimentally tilts her head to the right, as Myka’s is leaning… no, she has to shrug her shoulder quite high to be able to even touch it with her ear.

Things Helena has learned during this trip: she is weaker, in the pushup arena, than Myka is. She is less ambidextrous than Myka is. Her neck (she tries bringing her left ear to her left shoulder, but no success there either) is less flexible than Myka’s is. Further, given the recent Rocky-Mountain announcement, she sleeps more lightly than Myka does, although that is of course no surprise. What is surprising is that she managed to sleep through any earlier announcements, though of course she was tired, and Myka was too… Helena has no idea whether Myka managed to read her reports, and whether she would want to be awakened if she had not read them. But she is so very asleep that Helena cannot bring herself to disturb her.

So Helena simply looks at Myka. She looks at her skin—a bit dry in the pressurized cabin air. She looks at her eyelashes—they are short but thick, crowding the edge of her eyelid. She looks at Myka’s slightly parted lips, and she tries and fails not to think further ahead than the next few minutes. What will happen when they land? What about in the airport, what about after that, what about tomorrow? What about a week, a month from now?

Helena forecasts; she has tried to control the world this way since she was a child. She builds out branches of possibility: if this happens, my response will be this. If another situation seems likely to ensue, then shift the response this way. _If Caturanga’s company appears that it will succeed, I will broach to Steve the idea of a child. If there seems less chance of success, I will still ask, but I will be more vague about timelines and the extent of my own interest. If Caturanga decides to move the company to Los Angeles, I will look into real estate based on daycare facilities first, schools second. But if Charles agrees to come too, I will concentrate on schools._ As far in advance as possible, she would envision such scenarios. _If Charles and I go to America_ , she had thought when she was twelve. They had not gone until she was twenty.

Yet where Myka is concerned, she cannot construct her customary, comforting scaffold. Myka tears it all down.

Helena is picturing Myka climbing a scaffold, removing random pieces from it until the structure starts to sway, and she has no awareness at all of the point at which she falls asleep again, but suddenly Myka’s voice is saying “Hey, Busted,” into her ear, and she opens her eyes.

“We’re almost on the ground,” Myka tells her. “I didn’t want to wake you up, but I don’t think I can carry you off the plane. Not with luggage, anyway.”

“Mmm,” is the most coherent utterance Helena can manage. How heavily she must have been out, that second time. How strange.

“Sleepyhead,” Myka accuses. It’s affectionate, but it’s an accusation all the same.

The plane hits the runway, and they both lean forward as it slows. That gives Helena enough time to pull herself together to say, “You are a fine one to call people names like that.”

“Me? I’ve been sitting here getting work done, enjoying all the amenities of the first-class cabin.”

“You are now, officially, Super-busted,” Helena declares. “I wish I’d thought to take a picture of you drooling as we were flying over your ancestral homeland of Colorado.”

Myka laughs. “I think I fell asleep five minutes after we took off, and I woke up _maybe_ ten minutes ago. Missed dinner, missed the free drinks, missed reading all my reports. But it was totally worth it, even though I’ll have to down an entire pharmacy’s worth of melatonin to get to sleep tonight.”

“About that,” Helena says as she is taking out her telephone, putting it in the correct mode, preparing to gather the rest of her things.

“Because what time is it now?” Myka asks, looking at her own telephone. “Wow, seven forty, on time for once! So, yeah, by the time I drive you home, and then drive back in, it’s at least ten.”

Helena says, very quickly, “Or you could stay.”

Myka is pulling her bag from the overhead compartment. She looks down at Helena. “Stay?”

“With me. I have reasons,” she adds. “Do you want to hear them?”

Myka now pulls Helena’s bag down and hands it to her. “I’ll listen to them if you really need to tell them to me, but I’m not inclined to—”

“By the time we get to Encino it would be after nine, and then as you say, you would have to drive back into the city, and then it would be after ten, and you’d have time for possibly six hours of sleep? Or less than that, correct?”

They make their way off the plane, up the jetway, then begin the hike to the baggage claim area, through which they will make their escape. Helena does not want to push Myka, but she is wondering if she is going to get any response at all…

Myka finally says, as if she has been thinking hard about the matter, “I guess if you’re so concerned about my sleeping, you could always Uber it home. That way we’d avoid the whole problem. Because my hour gets stolen either way, doesn’t it? If I have to drive in to work from Encino in the morning, I leave earlier than I would from my place by about an hour, right? So even if I stay with you and go to bed at nine, I’m still stuck with six hours of sleep. Right?” She steps onto the escalator that will take them down to the level from which they will exit.

Helena steps behind her. She wants to give Myka’s bag, which is hanging from Myka’s shoulder and is now level with her booted foot, a petulant kick, but instead she says, “Fine then. I’ll take a cab.”

Myka turns around and looks up at her. Then she turns back around. “For what it’s worth,” she says, “I don’t think you would have to.” She points downward with the hand that is not holding her attaché.

Helena looks down, and she sees, as if suddenly the focal length of a lens were changed to yield a wide view of the escalator’s terminus, what Myka means. An entire team has come to meet them: Christina, Steve, Liam, Pete, Jane, Abigail, and Claudia. Helena imagines that Charles was most likely invited as well… and she imagines that Charles could most likely not hide his horror at the very thought of being part of this kind of public spectacle, particularly in the baggage claim at LAX, where there is absolutely no room for such a display in the first place.

Myka turns back around, smiling just a little. “For what it’s also worth, no one has ever shown up to meet me here. So I think you should be really flattered, and probably also appalled.”

“I think _we_ should be really flattered and probably also appalled.”

Myka looks down. “Hm,” she says. “At least they don’t have signs.”

At which point, of course, Claudia pulls awkwardly from behind her back a huge post-it note, of the sort made for easels, a sign that has the words “not encouraging” written on it, but they are crossed out, and below them is scrawled “signs point to yes!”

When they step off of the escalator, the assembled group lets out a very sweet cheer. Helena asks Claudia, “What, precisely, do signs point to yes about?” She had wanted to reach immediately for Christina, but she is trying to be quite casual about that; Christina has for some time now been developing a certain skittishness about being hugged or kissed public hellos and goodbyes. Tonight, however, Christina jumps away from Steve’s side and hugs first. It is merely an arm around Helena’s middle, but Helena feels that she might dare to drop a kiss on her daughter’s head. Just one, and just briefly. And Christina looks up at her and smiles.

Claudia exclaims, “Everything!”

Christina pulls away from Helena. “Wait,” she says. “It can’t be everything. Because if I ask you if the Niners won the game tonight, and the answer is yes, then if I ask you if the Niners lost the game, it can’t _also_ be yes.”

Claudia shakes the sign at her. “Some kind of charm is going to kick in with you at some point, right? That’s what’s going to happen, right? Or am I just gonna find you endlessly annoying?”

“Helena,” Myka says, “are you going to be offended if I say ‘signs point to yes’ to that last question?” But she winks at Christina.

Abigail says, “Suddenly you wink at everybody. You have become a winker.”

“That sounds dirty,” Pete tells Abigail.

“Yeah, it does,” Myka says. “So why are you here? Just to listen to Abigail say things that sound dirty? Not that that isn’t a good reason; I’m just curious.”

Jane crosses her arms, looks at the group, then focuses on Myka and Helena. “We are here to say congratulations. And thank you.”

Helena says, “It’s you we should be thanking, Jane; Mrs. Frederic told us everything.”

“Listen to me: if the two of you had failed to make a reasonable case? Artie would have gotten a call immediately, telling him that he was right and I had misunderstood the situation.”

“And Myka, imagine how that would’ve upset the carrier pigeons,” Claudia says.

“What carrier pigeons?” Christina asks suspiciously.

“You know,” Claudia tells her, “just because somebody says something, it doesn’t mean it has anything to do with you. It might be an inside joke with somebody who is completely not you.”

Christina says, “Or you might just be making things up.”

“Myka, tell her I am not making things up!” Claudia says.

“Christina, she is not making things up,” Myka says obediently. “Well, she was this morning, because there aren’t actually any pigeons. But I guess you could say it’s sort of an inside joke now.”

Helena, fascinated by what seems to be turning into a power struggle over Myka’s attention, does not immediately realize that Steve is saying, “H.G., H.G.” She turns to him; he is standing with Liam, off to the side. The rest of the company are blithely continuing to block the escalator and are receiving, and ignoring, some very dirty looks. “H.G.,” he says again, “have you talked to Caturanga? I mean since your meeting?” Helena shakes her head, and he goes on, “Well, then, let’s just say he’s pleased. In that way that only he can be. He wanted to be here too—probably would’ve been fighting with Claudia about who got to hold the sign—but Wolly’s losing his mind about the startup. I think Caturanga’s over there now, actually, because Wolly was yelling about how they all seem to be at a perpetual sleepover, and why couldn’t they wear clothing instead of pajamas in the workplace anyway.”

“Why in the world did Caturanga give him that assignment in any case? Wolly’s lovely suits and ties would have fit so much more smoothly into the financial world.”

Steve goggles at her. “You cannot be serious. I bet he’s _filming_ Wolly fuming at the twenty-year-olds right now.”

Helena sighs. “Right. Imperfect information.”

“Wolly’s at a sleepover?” Christina asks from right beside Helena. Clearly Claudia has been victorious for the moment in the battle for Myka, as they are now conferring together over something.

Steve says, “Not exactly. But sort of; the people he’s working with tend not to go home much.”

“Can we have one too?”

“I beg your pardon,” Helena says. “First, may we have one too. Second, it is a school night. And third, with whom?”

“Everybody here!” Christina exclaims. “Except _Claudia_.” She looks a tiny dagger at Claudia, and Helena starts trying to resign herself to the idea of having to broker some sort of peace between the two of them.

Claudia looks up and says, “Like I want to come to your pajama party, Chrissy. I bet you have some kind of cutesy bunny slippers or something to match your pjs.”

“Don’t call me _Chrissy_. And I have _shark_ slippers. What kind of slippers do you have?”

“What do I need slippers for, _Chrissy_? I own socks.”

“I bet you don’t even have cool orange socks like Myka does,” Christina says, in her darkest possible tone.

Myka says, “You think my socks are cool?”, as if she’s really asking.

“They’re _orange_ ,” Christina enthuses, now ignoring Claudia completely. “Maybe that’s the rule: everybody has to wear a different color of socks to the sleepover. You can have dibs on orange, Myka. If you want to.”

“A sleepover,” Helena mutters. She says to Steve, “This is _entirely_ your fault.”

“No, that’s not true. Not entirely. It’s mostly Claudia’s fault, that everybody’s here. The fact that Christina’s here, yeah, that’s my fault; Liam and I swung over to your place and picked her up.”

“Thus the fact that neither you nor I—nor, most likely, Charles—will ever hear the end of this sleepover idea is indeed entirely your fault. I would also note that you used the word in the first place.”

Christina rolls her eyes. “ _I_ would note that I’ve heard the word before, Mom. Can I ride home with Myka?”

“May I ride home with Myka.”

Christina rolls her eyes again. “Ugh. May I?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“First, because of your attitude. But more pertinently, because Myka is going to her apartment, and I believe you need to come to our house.”

Christina stands still. She is very visibly thinking. “Hey, Liam,” she finally says.

“Hey, C,” Liam says. “What?”

Helena murmurs to Steve, “Why this sudden spate of nicknames?”

Steve murmurs back, “If you get upset because certain people—namely, my boyfriend—like her enough to be familiar with her, I don’t know what to do with you.”

“Your _boyfriend_ ,” Helena says. “Well, that’s different.”

Christina continues, “You were already staying at Dad Steve’s house tonight.”

Liam looks nervously at Steve. He says, “Yes. Yes, I was.”

To Helena, who raises an eyebrow, Steve whispers, “Because you have all the room in the world, Miss Pomona of 2014.”

Helena grits her teeth and says, a bit too loudly, “We were not in Pomona, for the love of god! The motel was in San Bernardino!”

This gets the attention of the knot of Warehousers, and Myka smiles. “Yes, it was in San Bernardino. I can confirm that.”

“I totally thought it was Pomona,” Pete says. “Didn’t the rest of you guys think it was Pomona? Wasn’t that the whole busted and super-busted thing? Or did they get busted for something else?”

Abigail says, “Claudia’s in charge of making them wear the scarlet post-its, but I know they did get busted for being late to the meeting last week.”

“Riiiiight,” Pete says. “But they were ‘at lunch’ that time, not ‘in Pomona.’ I wish they’d just say ‘gettin it on’ like normal people do.”

Jane tries, a bit halfheartedly, to shush Pete, while Myka tries, also halfheartedly, to maintain, “We actually were at lunch, not that you’re going to believe me.”

“Not that I am, at all, ever again,” Pete agrees, “and now I gotta add ‘in New York’ and ‘at Warehouse headquarters’ to the list.” At this, his mother reaches for him, as if to grab the scruff of his neck and shake him.

Meanwhile, Christina is continuing to interrogate Liam: “So if you’re staying at Dad Steve’s, don’t you think it makes total sense for Myka to stay with us? I mean, just logically. Like, if that is what people do.”

Liam, for his part, has turned a bit pale. He looks at Steve, who shakes his head in abdication of responsibility; at Helena, who is trying very hard to curb an impulse to muzzle her daughter; and at Christina, who looks like a cat who has cornered a wounded, frightened bird. “Um. That is a very good question, C. Here’s what might be a better way to get it answered: by asking your mom and Myka instead of me.”

Pete, who has begun darting around in a clear attempt to escape his mother, ducks by Liam, then parks himself right beside Christina. He pushes his fist against her shoulder, saying, “Don’t ask them, pick me, I know the answer!”

“You don’t even know what the question is,” Helena points out.

“True. But it’s like that roomful of monkeys typing _Hamlet_. Eventually I’d get to the right answer even if I don’t know the question. You’re probably not the kind of kid who likes to be tickled, are you?” He pokes at Christina’s ribs experimentally.

“Not a whole lot,” Christina affirms, so Pete goes back to shoving her in the shoulder. “And I read that that _Hamlet_ thing probably wouldn’t happen with real monkeys, because they like to pick one key and hit it over and over again.”

“It’s still a helpful idea when you’re trying to explain to a client why some TV blowhard’s stock-picking seems really great for a while.”

“How?”

“You just say he’s a monkey who happened to type _Hamlet_. Anyway, I say we take a poll.”

“A poll,” Helena repeats.

“Yeah!” Pete enthuses. He raises his voice and says, “Everybody’ll give their answer to whatever the question is, and we’ll go with the consensus.”

Abigail nods. “I’ve heard that aggregating data is all the rage.”

Helena says, a bit desperately, “We are not going to do that.”

“What aren’t we going to do?” Myka asks.

“Vote, vote, vote!” Pete says. “What was the question, Christina? Hey, I gotta figure out what I’m gonna call you. I’ve heard you don’t like ‘Chrissy,’ and Liam’s already got ‘C,’ which is fine if you want to be a snore like he is, but—”

“You could try ‘Christina,’” Helena says, hoping to distract him. “Just an idea, given that it is the actual name that Steve and I decided—”

“Nah, don’t like it. Christmas, what was the question?”

Christina says, with great determination and purpose, “It was, doesn’t it make sense for Myka to come home with us right now?”

And Helena is hardly surprised that it is for that utterance, and that utterance alone, that the noise in baggage claim decides to lull, practically to dead silence, such that it is not only everyone in their crowd (although _certainly_ everyone in their crowd), who hears, and turns, and looks, but also several baggage carousels’ worth of additional crowd. And Helena cannot, and indeed is almost afraid to try to, read the expression on the most important face in all those crowds.

The silence stretches, as does Helena’s discomfort, until it is broken by a whoop of laughter from Abigail. “Oh, my vote’s definitely yes,” she chortles. “If only because getting to see H.G.’s face right now is the funniest thing that has happened to me all day, and that is something, given that I also heard Artie preach a sermon today about how the four horsemen of the apocalypse were actually horse _women_ named Jane, Irene, H.G., and Myka.”

Then Pete says, “That was pretty funny. But oh, man, what an awesome question, C-note! I’m a yes, too. Totally. I mean, just look at ’em.”

Now Helena can read Myka’s face easily: she is annoyed with Pete. “Look at us what?” Myka demands. “We’re barely even in the same zip code at the moment.” And Helena can’t help but wonder if there is a reason for that.

Pete ignores Myka completely. He turns to his mother expectantly. Jane says, “I would say that I have no opinion, but as I helped to facilitate this entire thing, I will have to reluctantly vote yes.”

“Seriously?” Myka says. “You couldn’t abstain?”

Jane nods. “I could, but really, it’s the coward’s way out.”

Liam says, “Dammit. I wanted to abstain.”

Steve tells him, mildly, “Don’t say dammit. My daughter is nine. Besides, her mother’s standing right there, and that’s where the real trouble comes from.”

“Uncle Charles says it all the time, which Mom knows is true, but even if he didn’t, do you think you are the only people I talk to?”

Pete enthuses, “And now you’ve got all of us to talk to too! C’mon, votes! Claud?”

Claudia says, “Despite the fact that it was Chrissy’s idea, I have to go with my previously stated affiliation: Team Bering and Wells. With T-shirts.”

Abigail says, “I want one of those T-shirts. No one will have any idea what it’s about, and that is the perfect T-shirt.”

Liam looks at her in confusion, and Helena revises her comparison: he isn’t an injured bird in peril. Instead, he’s a flummoxed kitten. “But we’ll know,” he says.

“I won’t wear it to the office, genius.” If Abigail were closer to him, Helena thinks, she might hit him in the head with something. “I’ll wear it to places where people will be dying to know if it’s some new hipster band they’ve never heard of.”

To his credit, Liam persists. “But what’ll you tell them when they ask?”

Abigail says, “I will smile enigmatically. I am very Garbo when I put my mind to it.” She demonstrates with what Helena has to acknowledge is a quite unfathomable upturn of the corners of her mouth.

Pete huffs. “I think I’m _way_ more enigmatic than you are. People generally have no idea what I’m thinking.”

“Fair point,” Abigail says. “But that’s generally because you’re _not_ thinking.”

“True, but that could’ve been Garbo’s deal too,” Pete theorizes.

The word “enigmatic” hardly begins to describe Myka’s expression, Helena thinks; it has moved back from annoyance to that look Helena can’t read. But even as her face is becoming more inscrutable, she is walking over to stand beside Helena. She says, quietly, “I thought I’d come join you in this zip code. I see it’s much fancier over here. Property taxes are probably out of sight.”

“Don’t joke,” Helena tells her. “You should just go home. We’ll work it out later.”

Myka says, still quietly, “We do have time to figure a lot of things out. Mrs. Frederic gave us time. Easier time, anyway. Time we don’t have to fight to find.”

Helena smiles. “It’s true; I ‘get to’ keep living on your hideous schedule.”

“You could be happier about seeing me every day,” Myka admonishes.

Helena responds honestly: “I don’t think I could.”

“That’s good to hear,” Myka says. “I like happy and sexy even more than sad and sexy.”

Pete taps Myka on the shoulder. “I counted it up,” he says. “Even if you and H.G. and Steve and the cowardly Liam all vote no, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got five yeses. Better head out, Valley Girl.”

Christina clearly considers the matter settled. “So Myka, can I ride with you? No, may I ride with you? See, look, you didn’t even have to say it.”

“Ride or die,” Abigail offers.

“Those are definitely not the only choices,” Christina says.

Abigail nods. “You have a pretty good grasp of logic for someone who’s… what are you, twelve? Seven? I never know with kids. Well, girls. Boys are clearer.”

“Nine.”

“Good for you, I guess. I have a twelve-year-old nephew. If you and he dated someday, it would be hilarious.” She looks at Helena, then looks at Myka and grins. “Wouldn’t it?”

Myka sighs. “Abigail, Helena knows. I told her.”

This deflates Abigail. “Oh. Well, it’s a little less hilarious if more people get the joke.”

“As I keep saying,” Pete declaims to the world at large, “it’s not a joke unless you _tell_ the joke.”

“I think Chrissy and Paul would actually look kind of cute together,” Claudia muses.

“Don’t call me Chrissy!” Christina growls at Claudia.

Myka abruptly holds out her hand to Christina. “This seems like one of those times I should sit down and do some reconciling, about this feud you’re having with Claudia, and my being a horsewoman of the apocalypse, and everything else, but I think we should get going. Come on. You get to ride in the Prius and help the environment.”

Christina looks up at Myka and asks, as if they have suddenly entered a negotiation, “If I do, will you tell me who Paul is?”

Myka nods. “I will.”

Christina nods back and takes her hand. They start heading for the exits.

Everything is moving too fast—or everything is simply too much. Helena says, “Wait.”

“What, fellow horsewoman?” Myka asks, looking back over her shoulder. “Suddenly you _don’t_ want to go home?”

Helena is desperate to go home. She is desperate, and she wants desperately for Myka to be there too, first and hugely because she wants Myka always to be there, but also because she desperately does not want to let go of this weekend yet, does not want the world to turn back into some difficult-to-negotiate version of normal. But Myka driving to Encino tonight is, yet again, Myka doing something she did not want to do… Myka is giving in, yet again, and Helena is equally desperate to keep Myka from feeling, and from coming to hate, that she always has to give in. “You don’t have to,” she says, and her voice is getting away from her; she knows she sounds unstable, insecure. “Myka, you don’t have to. Please, everyone, please, tell her she doesn’t have to do this! Please don’t make her do this…”

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

Myka turns around and marches back to the group, hauling Christina behind her. She drops her bags to the floor and waves her hands at all of them. “Is anyone here forcing me to do anything?”

“Pretty sure no,” Pete answers.

“Not today,” Jane adds.

“That’s not a superpower I possess,” Abigail says.

“I certainly know better than to try,” Claudia says.

“As if I could,” Liam sighs.

“I don’t even know you that well,” Steve says.

“Okay!” Myka says. “Because if it turns out I am being coerced, everybody except that pretty girl having a breakdown is in trouble, got me?”

Nods all around, even from Christina.

“Okay!” Myka says again. She turns to Helena. “As for you, pretty girl having a breakdown…” She shakes her head and smiles. “Please don’t have a breakdown.” Myka comes to Helena, makes her set down her luggage, and puts her arms around her. “Here is what I did: I made a mistake. To the surprise of absolutely no one, including me, I made a mistake.”

And Helena has no idea whether to laugh, to start crying, to ask what mistake…

Myka says, “I tried to mess with you.”

“About what?” Helena manages to ask.

“About driving you home. Listen to me: the minute you said ‘stay,’ I was staying. You didn’t need to tell me any reasons. And sure, these characters can vote on it; they can get everybody in this entire airport to vote. Everybody on your precious Twitter can vote. And they can all vote yes, or they can all vote no; I don’t care. You said stay, and I want to stay, so I’m staying. Okay?”

Helena leans forward, rests her body fully against Myka’s, rests her head against Myka’s neck for just a moment, just one moment, first because she is so relieved, but second because she can’t look at Myka, because she feels like such a fool.

Myka reads her mind and says, against the top of her head, “It’s my fault. I keep trying to pretend like I’m cool when I’m not. I won’t do that anymore. I won’t play it off, I won’t try to fool you into thinking I’m indifferent about whether we’re together. Okay? Is that a reasonable deal?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Myka moves her head back and smiles. “So what do I get in return?”

“What?” Helena is not sure she heard correctly.

“That’s the way a deal usually works: I give you something, you give me something.”

“What do you want?”

Now Myka makes a show of considering. “That’s a dangerous question. I’m tempted to say a player to be named later, but I think that kind of uncertainty is exactly what you don’t need right now. So I’m going to go with this.” She puts her mouth to Helena’s ear and whispers, “Pete’s going to think I’m saying something about sex, and I’m going to let him think that, so play along, okay?” Helena gives a small cough of a laugh, a small jerk of a nod. “Okay. So here’s what I really want: I want you to look at us. Look at us _together_. Look at where we were two months ago, and look at us now. And if you get worried about where we are now—particularly about where _I_ am now—I want you to think about _how far we’ve come_.” She leans back. At a normal volume, she says, “Can you do that?”

Helena suspects that if she were a cartoon, she would have literal stars, or more likely bright-red hearts, in her eyes. She has barely more control over herself than she had before, but she is able to pull her wits together enough to say, “Possibly if I stretch beforehand.”

Myka takes about a half-second to get it and grin, while Pete takes a moment more… then he exclaims, “I _knew_ it’d be something like that!”

“That was _ideal_ ,” Myka says quietly to Helena. “He’ll chew on that for weeks. You know, sometimes I think you have these anxiety attacks on purpose just so nobody can accuse you of being perfect all the time.”

“You’ve never said I was perfect,” Helena says.

“Mm. Maybe I don’t want it to go to _your_ head.”

She could stand here for days, Helena thinks, looking at Myka’s reassuring half-smile, taking comfort in her restorative embrace… but then she feels something about the atmosphere change, and she looks to the side. Christina is there, arms crossed, impatience personified. “Are we _ever_ going home?” she asks.

Myka presses her lips to Helena’s temple, a gentle wisp of a kiss, and lets her go. “Yeah,” she says to Christina, “we are.”

And Helena wants to say don’t let me go yet, not quite yet, please not quite yet… but instead she leans to pick up her bags. Her hands are shaking.

She watches Myka pick up her own bags, take Christina’s hand again, and say to Claudia, “I will be in as early tomorrow as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” Claudia says. “But you know we’re all in for it, you and H.G. worst of all.”

“We’ll work it out,” Myka says, but it’s almost a question, and she looks at Jane as she says it. Jane nods firmly. “We will work it out,” Myka says more strongly. “For now, though, I’ve got my toothbrush, and I’ve got this kid, so I think I am basically good to go. Just need one more thing.” She looks over at Helena.

Helena asks, “What’s that?”

“Seriously,” Myka says, “after all this?”

“You have _got_ to start keeping up, H.G.,” Claudia says.

“It’s cute for a while, but then it gets old,” Pete says.

“I think she’s just tired, Pete,” Liam admonishes.

“Liam has a point,” Jane says.

Abigail says, “Well, I don’t think it’s real. I think she does it for effect.”

Steve says, “I’ve known her for a long time, Abigail, and I’m sorry to have to report that it’s most likely real.”

Christina says, “Mom, even _I_ know she means you.”

Helena can barely follow who is saying what, much less what anyone means. “Really?” she says, for want of some better response.

“Claudia’s right,” Myka says with a smile. “You have got to start keeping up. Particularly if this is the speed with which the world is going to move. You’re all about change happening fast, aren’t you? Well then, start practicing what you preach, or I will call you a pretty hypocrite for the rest of our lives.”

“Does hypocrite have anything to do with Hippocrates?” Christina asks.

“I don’t think so, but here.” Myka digs her telephone out of her bag and hands it to Christina. “Look it up. Play some speed chess while you’re at it.”

Helena still feels that she is at least one step behind. She is, soon, several actual steps behind, as Myka and Christina start walking away, yet she cannot quite get herself to move.

Steve says, quickly, “Hey, Myka, do you mind if H.G. rides with me and Liam? Because I thought I was going to drive her, and there’s actually a work thing…”

Myka looks back: at him, at Helena. She looks down at Christina. “Do you mind if it’s just you and me?”

“I don’t mind. Do you mind if I actually play speed chess?”

“I have no problem with that,” Myka tells her. She gives one more look back, as if to reassure herself, then starts walking with purpose.

Christina turns back once, too. She yells, “Pete, I forgot to ask you: would you eat a puking pumpkin?”

Pete yells back, “In a heartbeat, C-Span!” Once Myka and Christina are out the door, he asks Helena, “Eat a puking pumpkin? Is that slang for something? Should I have said no?”

“No, that was… quite right,” Helena tries to reassure him. “I’m sorry, I don’t… I mean, I’m not really… I’m very… unclear. That’s it. I’m very unclear. On what just happened here.”

Abigail says, “H.G., what just happened here was unprecedented. Trust me. You don’t know regular Myka like we do. This is not regular Myka. It has not been regular Myka since you came to Warehouse Finance.”

“And you don’t—I mean, you in particular aren’t—”

“Do you think I’m upset because of Violet?” Abigail laughs. “ _I_ am not the fool who decided to try to carry on a bicoastal relationship with her.”

Helena says, “As the story was told to me, your sister did not want it to be bicoastal.”

“Right. I am also not the fool who tried to make Myka do something she didn’t want to do. My sister ran up against an immovable object, but she was not herself an irresistible force. Do you see what I am trying to tell you?”

Pete says, helpfully, “It’s that Myka really did want to go home with you in the first place.”

Claudia adds, equally helpfully, “We are pretty sure, particularly in hindsight, that there is not a time that Myka wouldn’t have followed you around like a puppy.”

Helena sighs. “She sometimes has a strange way of showing it.”

“That’s because she’s Myka,” Claudia says, and everyone else, with the exception of Steve, nods.

They begin to disperse, but each has a hug and a word for Helena, as if in fortification. Pete actually lifts her off the ground as he says, “Myka’s happier than I’ve ever seen her.”

“I’m happy too,” Helena says. “Evidence from this evening notwithstanding.”

“Good deal,” Pete tells her. “Hey, speaking of deals, what exactly is it you’re gonna have to stretch for?”

Helena takes the liberty of smacking him gently on the arm once he puts her down.

Jane is next. “I’ll say it again: Congratulations. And thank you.”

“And I’ll also say again: it is thanks to you.”

“Let’s agree to be fellow horsewomen,” Jane suggests. “I think we’ll be able to handle tomorrow with that mindset.”

Abigail gives Helena a surprisingly warm embrace and says, “I didn’t really think you did it for effect. I just said that for effect.”

“I think your sense of humor is a bit beyond me,” Helena admits.

This pleases Abigail enormously.

Claudia informs Helena, “Maybe your kid isn’t quite as annoying as she seems. Maybe. I’m gonna keep calling her Chrissy, though, because that pissed-off little face she makes? It is exactly like yours.”

“Thank you,” Helena says. “Most people think she looks like Steve.”

“She does. I almost squawked and fell over and died when I saw them walk in here together.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Helena tells her.

“I’m glad you didn’t either,” Claudia says.

When only Steve, Liam, and Helena remain, Steve says, “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

“What’s the work thing?” Helena asks.

“There is no work thing,” he says.

“Then I don’t understand.”

Now Steve pulls her into a hug. “As I mentioned before, I’ve known you a long time.”

“You have.” She looks at him curiously as he lets her go.

His look is earnest. It is also sharp. “I’ve known you a long time, and I think I also know you pretty well. And it was my considered judgment, as someone who’s known you a long time and knows you pretty well, that it was a good idea for you _not_ to spend an hour in a car with Myka, and especially Myka and Christina, right now. Because I know you don’t like Christina to see you lose it, and I bet you would prefer that Myka didn’t see you lose it, _and_ that Myka didn’t see Christina see you lose it, _and_ vice versa. And H.G., that was a circumstance under which your losing it would have gone miles beyond your usual single artistic teardrop followed by a lone well-timed sniffle.”

And Helena has to concede that he does, in fact, know her extremely well indeed.

In the car, Steve talks at first of football, then moves to Wolly and the twenty-year-olds, and finally starts in on how Chessboard should maybe provide Warehouse with a custom suite of enterprise software because it might change Artie’s mind? Liam suggests that all of them are probably going to have to get behind Artie’s mind and push at the same time in order to get it out of the ditch, but he allows that Artie does in fact believe in increasing productivity. Helena muses from the back seat that the enterprise software does in fact sound like a very good idea because she has noticed that what the corporate offices provide for the larger East Coast branches does not scale down well.

In slightly less than an hour, Steve pulls up at the curb of the Wells house.

The Prius is in the driveway.

“You sure you’re okay?” Steve asks. “You need us to come in for a while?”

“It’s fine,” Helena tells him. “I’m almost certain it’s fine. Or it will be.”

“If there’s anything you need, H.G.,” Liam says.

“Thank you, and I would say the same to you,” she tells him. He is so sweetly sincere, and she has put so little effort into getting to know him… she resolves to do better on that. “I apologize for having been the one in need tonight.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “Just remember, what everybody was saying about Myka is true. She’s so much happier.”

Helena smiles. “I shouldn’t say this, given that he’s sitting right here, but I think Steve is happier these days as well.”

Steve says, “Just because _you’re_ having issues, don’t go messing around in _my_ life.” But Helena notices that he reaches over and takes Liam’s hand.

Helena waves them goodbye, then turns to the house. The front window’s curtains are still open, and she can see that Charles, Christina, and Myka are all in the living room. Christina is pummeling Charles for whatever reason applies on a Monday night, and Myka is laughing at them. Charles raises a hand to Myka, as if to beg her aid, but Myka clearly turns him down—Helena recognizes the look on Christina’s face as triumph.

Helena feels something on her head, and she looks up. Rain—not much, but rain. She takes one more look through the window. She might have kept watching the scene, given the effect it is having on her heart, but for the rain…

“You took forever to get here, Mom!” Christina exclaims when she steps into the hallway.

“Welcome home, Helena,” Charles says.

“Hi,” Myka says. “You took forever to get here. Welcome home.”

 

END (but TBC in an epilogue, because I cannot leave well enough alone)


	26. Epilogue (or: Travelogue)

For a while, everything is fine. In fact, for almost three months, everything is far better than fine.

Myka and Christina watch _Bringing Up Baby_ together, and Christina allows that Myka’s favorite Katharine Hepburn person is kind of funny after all. Much to Helena’s consternation, Christina decides that the scene in which Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn are calling for the dog, George, is her favorite scene, and she decides to repeat it every time she needs to get Helena’s attention. “George!” Helena will hear, in Christina’s “Cary Grant” voice, followed by “George!” in her “Katharine Hepburn” voice. Over and over and over.

“Tell her you’re changing your middle name,” Myka suggests.

“To what?”

“Geraldine? Gertrude?” And when Helena makes a face, she goes on, “No? Well… how about something descriptive? Gorgeous? Glorious?”

For that, Helena kisses her. For a lot of things, Helena kisses her. “I think oxytocin really must be quite the drug,” Helena says, one Wednesday afternoon; the market is closed, and she and Myka are in fact spending in Myka’s bed the time that other people are most likely wasting in restaurants. They do not do this often, but every now and then they will look at each other, sometimes when they are right next to each other in a meeting, sometimes when they are at opposite ends of the hallway, and sometimes it is because it has been too long, and sometimes because they have just spent a night together, but they look at each other, and that is that.

“I think you’re the drug,” Myka says. “For me, anyway.”

Even when they cannot be together, they feel as if they are; they take steps to make sure they feel that way. Myka cannot come to Christina’s autumn carnival at school, but she calls that night, after they are home, and Helena waits her turn as Christina recounts, for over half an hour, such joys as a scary house that featured peeled grapes that felt like eyeballs.

The first thing Helena gets to hear Myka say is, “I can never predict when she’s going to be an actual kid.”

“Exactly,” Helena tells her.

“I was really hoping that might get easier over time,” Myka says. She sounds like Eeyore. Helena wants to kiss her.

But some things do get easier over time. Steve tells Caturanga his enterprise-software idea, and Caturanga pays a visit to the Warehouse offices to speak to Artie about it. The pretext for his visit (he warns Steve and Helena about this ahead of time) is to address the distracting conduct of his employees, but during his conversation with Artie, somehow the topic of enterprise software comes up. “Mr. Nielsen’s brilliant idea!” Caturanga calls it as he publicly directs Steve and Helena to implement this productivity-enhancing plan. That Steve and Helena will be charged with a major task that he himself came up with seems to make Artie inordinately happy.

Helena chafes, just a bit, at the idea of playing this particular part. Claudia gives her a post-it that says “fight the power,” but Myka whispers, “Let’s work on that research, after market hours. I bet it’ll make you forget all about it.” And it does.

Some things do not need to get easier; they are easy to begin with. For example, Myka and Charles get along very well. They talk about _Wall Street Journal_ articles they have read—“Why do you read it anyway?” Myka had asked him, and Charles answered, “I find it a very American thing to do”—as well as the apparently infinite, and infinitely annoying, vagaries of both Christina and Helena. “Do not tell her the story about the fishing boat,” Helena warns Charles. Charles is delighted to tell it anyway.

Myka spends Christmas with them; she goes to work the following day, because the market is open (“It’s pointless,” she complains, “because the Friday after a Thursday Christmas? Nobody trades, but sure as I don’t go in, Dwayne or somebody will have some brilliant idea that can’t be implemented on a normal day of the year”), but other than that sojourn, she is in Encino for almost five full days. And nights. She does the same thing the following week, over New Year’s, and every time Helena walks into the kitchen to find Myka there making lunch for Christina, or into the living room to find Myka and Charles arguing over the merits of reality television, or into her own bedroom to find Myka already sprawled over the bed, asleep, she feels that she is, almost against her will, relaxing into the idea that at some point, Myka will be there to stay.

But then there is fate, and its banana peels.

Warehouse Finance and Chessboard had originally contracted a six-month consulting agreement. Those six months expire near the end of January, and Caturanga and Mrs. Frederic decide that it is time to see how things will work in the absence of Chessboard’s active presence in the Los Angeles office.

For a while, everything is fine.

There are no more “research” lunch hours, of course, save one extremely frantic occasion in early February when Helena calls Myka and says “I am between meetings and will literally drive past your apartment in ten minutes. Are you free?”

“I am now,” Myka says, and in her haste to leave, she does not manage to disconnect the call, so Helena hears her yell at Claudia, “I’m at lunch! For a while! Don’t call me!” to which Claudia answers, “I’m not that stupid, and tell H.G. hi for me.” But Myka does not tell Helena “hi,” from Claudia or from anyone. She tells Helena, “It’s practically _criminal_ that I haven’t been able to touch you for three days,” and Helena tells her to stop wasting time talking, because they can do that on the telephone but not this. Myka tries to joke about phone sex, Helena threatens to leave, and Myka apologizes in a way that is not sincere at all, such that Helena does not know whether to hit her or kiss her, but she opts for the latter because she too thinks it is practically criminal that Myka has not been able to touch her for three days.

They arrange an actual evening out for Valentine’s Day, which is a Saturday; Myka spends that weekend in Encino, and Helena feels that they almost recapture that feeling of late December, that sense of happy inevitability. Almost. The time is shorter, though, and that seems to matter.

And after that, something seems to shift. Helena and Myka still talk regularly, of course, and Myka talks to Christina as well, but that their actual time together now has to be arranged seems more and more of an impediment to its being arranged at all. Myka will have a client visit, Christina a school activity, Helena a late meeting. Helena will see Myka once or twice a week, if they are lucky. Christina sees her even less often. What a few months ago would have been a simple “yes, I’ll come home with you tonight” from Myka becomes “I don’t think I can make it out of the city.” Helena’s “yes, let’s go to lunch when the market closes; no, really, to lunch this time” becomes “no, I’m stuck with a retailer in Santa Monica.”

Helena had known that working together was helping them, giving them time to work out how to be together, how to move in the direction of a life that would do more than simply lurch from one crisis to the next. She had not realized that it had become a crutch—nor that once the crutch was removed, their relationship would seem unable to move at all.

Helena tries to tell herself that this is life: things work until they don’t. Things move until they don’t.

On a Thursday in late April, Myka calls Helena and says, “Do you and Christina want to come watch us play softball on Saturday, around noon? Charles can come too, if he wants, but I know he won’t want to. I also know it’s short notice, but Claudia’s dorks from Morgan Stanley didn’t confirm till this morning.”

“I could, but Christina can’t make it. She’s meant to go to an exhibit of some sort with Steve and Liam.”

“Yeah… I think we’re stealing them. Liam’s probably telling Steve about it right now. Steve said a long time ago that he’d play for us if we needed him to, and boy do we need him. Hey, do you want to suit up? Liam and Abigail have a new assistant, Kelly, and she’s going to give us nine, with Steve, but we could sure use a sub. And Claudia’s boyfriend Todd is really sweet and always says he’ll do it, but he screams every time a ball comes near him. Actually he should really be our mascot, we’re that bad.”

“You certainly make it sound delightful,” Helena says. “I suppose if Liam and Steve are both playing, that means Christina’s museum trip is off. But I categorically refuse to play.”

“Spoilsport. Or, actually, smart woman. It’s at a high school downtown. Do you mind driving in?”

Helena thinks that Myka sounds preoccupied. “It’s fine. Noon, you said?”

“Yeah, I’ll text you the details. Okay, good, so, Saturday.”

“Saturday,” Helena confirms.

Neither of them makes mention of the fact that they have not seen each other in two weeks.

****

Helena and Christina arrive at the high school baseball field a bit early; traffic had been surprisingly light, and so they are here in advance, even, of many of the players, including Steve and Liam. Pete and his mother are here, however, as is Claudia, in the company of a young man who must be Todd. Myka is here too. She is on the field near home plate, holding a bat in front of her as if it might bite. Helena can barely breathe at the sight of her, she feels such a rush of love. She tries to tell herself that that response will fade over time. Particularly if she does not see that sight anymore.

“Hey, Myka!” Christina shouts, and runs for her.

“Hey, Christina!” Myka shouts back. She drops the bat and wraps her arms around Christina as the girl runs solidly into her body. “Whoa, we aren’t playing tackle softball. I’m pretty sure, anyway. Are we, Pete?”

“I hope not,” Pete says. “Got all my tackling out of my system on the O-line at UCLA, and now I got the knees to prove it. What is _up_ , CEO?”

“I don’t like that one,” Myka tells him. “Christina, honey, what’s the verdict?”

“Not my favorite,” Christina says. Her arms are still tightly around Myka. Helena is tempted to look away from the picture they make together.

Helena is tempted, also, to ignore Myka when she beckons and says, “What are you doing all the way over there?”

But instead she goes to her, lets Myka put an arm around her, lets herself be kissed. The kiss feels slightly unnatural, slightly stilted.

That does not stop Christina from saying “ugh,” at which Myka taps her on the head and says, “Excuse me, I think somebody got to play poker for pretzels with some very charming individuals several weeks ago, and I think ignoring certain public displays of affection was one of the terms of the agreement allowing that game that was entered into by you and one of those charming individuals. Namely me.”

“Ugh. Fine. Go ahead and kiss,” Christina says.

“Chrissy!” Claudia yells. “Come here and meet Todd!”

“Don’t call me Chrissy!” Christina bellows back. “Hi Todd! My name is not Chrissy!”

Claudia waves that off. “It is as far as I’m concerned.”

“I beat you at Texas Hold ’Em!” Christina yells, clearly frustrated.

“So I guess your name should really be Pretzel. And you didn’t beat me by much.” This is true; Claudia and Christina had been the last two standing at the very end of the evening, and that seemed, paradoxically, to have gone a long way toward cooling their not-quite-animosity. Also the fact that Myka had found Helena so distracting that evening that she had lost all her pretzels very early on helped as well.

Now Myka says, “Where were we?” and leans to kiss Helena again; Helena says, “It’s all right; you don’t have to,” and moves away.

To Myka’s look of confusion, Helena says, “You were warming up. Or you were about to.”

Pete, who is now playing catch with his mother (her arm, Helena notes, is spectacular), says, “Oh, that’s pointless, H.G. She can’t hit to save her life.”

“I’d try to argue,” Myka sighs, “but it’s true.” She takes a very strange posture that Helena assumes is meant to approximate a batting stance, then executes a flailing, wandering motion that is vaguely like a swing.

Christina says, fairly loudly, “She kind of looks like a confused octopus playing softball, too.”

Myka says, “I heard that! And I would show you a confused octopus playing softball, but I honestly don’t think I can break this bat. As you’ve noticed, I can barely swing it.”

“Mom could. I mean, she could swing it. I’ve never seen her break one.”

Now Myka looks from Helena to Christina. “She said she couldn’t play!”

Christina says, “I bet she didn’t say that.” To Helena, she says, “Mom, show her how it’s done.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Helena tells her. She is trying to remember the last time she played; it was years ago, and she does not even know if her hands would remember the feel of the bat, if her weight would shift on her feet correctly, if her hips would rotate through the swing… softball had been, mainly, a diversion when she was a student, a diversion that kept her from spending too many unhealthy hours in front of a computer… but it was a diversion at which she had excelled. She really does not want to show herself how far she has fallen.

Helena hears Myka laugh. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” she scoffs.

Myka does not believe she can play. Myka, indifferent Myka, does not believe anything about Helena, does not believe that she is important, that she is important _enough_ ; Myka does not _care,_ or does not care _enough_ , and it is true that while Helena did not volunteer that fact that she most certainly can play softball, Myka did not put any energy into finding out. She could have asked Steve. She could have asked Charles. She could have invested the smallest bit of _effort_ into this, into everything… and Helena knows she is too angry about this, that nothing good ever happens when she loses her temper, but she is absolutely steaming, so she reaches down, slips her fingers around the nearest bat, and swings it violently back so that she can demonstrate a _proper_ stance—

—but the bat does not go all the way back; it bounces forward again just as it passes her shoulder. Is she too near the backstop? She turns around and looks, but she is nowhere near the fencing, and everyone is staring at the ground behind her, so she looks down too.

Myka is lying, unmoving, on the dirt.

“Oh my god! What happened?” Helena hears Steve’s voice say.

“H.G. just killed Myka?” Pete says.

“Stop it, Pete. She isn’t dead,” his mother tells him. Jane has reached Myka’s side; she is feeling for a pulse, listening for breathing, shaking Myka’s shoulder. Myka is starting to move, but her eyes are not open yet. “Call an ambulance. She lost consciousness, she’ll need to be checked out.”

“I can’t even do a pushup anymore, not…” Helena says. “I mean, how could I possibly have…”

Claudia says, “I would love to see what happens when you actually swing the bat the direction it’s supposed to go. You really could kill somebody then, couldn’t you? Or at least break the home-run record.”

Now Myka’s eyes are open, and she is trying to sit up. Jane holds her down, saying, “I think you should wait for the ambulance.”

“Ambulance,” Myka says. “For me? What’s the matter with me?”

Christina says, “You walked up behind Mom, and she hit you with the bat because you didn’t believe us. She knocked you out. I bet you have a concussion. What day of the week is it?”

“Saturday,” Myka says.

“Who was the president that came before Rutherford B. Hayes?”

Liam says, “C, I think the question’s supposed to be, who’s the president right now.”

Christina tells him, “She got the day right. I want to see if she can still _think about things_.”

“U.S. Grant?” Myka says weakly.

“Is that a guess?” Christina asks. “Or do you know for sure?”

“You say that your mom hit me in the head with a bat,” Myka says.

“Yeah.”

“Then I don’t see how I could possibly know for sure. Where _is_ she?”

“You mean Mom?”

“No, Rutherford B. Hayes. Of course I mean your mom.”

Helena walks just into Myka’s field of vision. “I’m here. I’m very _very_ sorry.”

“I would say it’s okay, but I’m lying on the ground and I guess I was unconscious, so it seems a little less than okay.”

Claudia says, “Cheer up! The good news is, we’re gonna cancel the game! We can at least say that those dorks from Morgan Stanley didn’t beat us this year! Pretty good timing, H.G.!”

Myka says, “Yeah. Timing. My own timing is apparently really really bad.”

“I honestly had no idea you were there,” Helena tells her.

“Well, _good_ ,” Myka says. “Because if you knew I was there and you hit me on purpose, I don’t think that bodes well for the future.”

 _The future_ , Helena thinks, sadly. But she does not have time to dwell on the thought, because the ambulance arrives, and everyone decides that they will follow it to the hospital to make sure Myka is all right. Jane rides in the ambulance; Myka says, “No, Helena, couldn’t you?” but Helena says, “I have to drive Christina.” And Myka nods. The nod clearly pains her.

It takes an astonishingly short time for her to be fully evaluated, once they are in the emergency room. Helena thinks it might be that the staff would prefer to usher the softball team out of the waiting area as quickly as possible… they are a large and extremely loud group for the middle of the day on a Saturday.

Two doctors examine Myka; she is taken for an X-ray of her skull. Everything looks fine, the doctors say. No fracture, nor even any definitive sign of trauma. They test her pupils, check her reflexes. Helena observes all of this, because Myka wants her to. And it is her fault; it is fair, she thinks, that she should have to view the consequences of what she has done.

Ultimately, the doctors conclude that while it is unusual, it is most likely the case that Myka does not have a concussion. That she will most likely have a headache and not much else. That she is very, very lucky, and that she should go home and thank the supreme being of her choice that if she had to be hit in the head with a bat, this is the way she chose to do it.

Then they tell her to sit tight for paperwork.

Myka is on a bed that is encircled by a curtain. Helena is as far away from Myka as the curtain will allow her to be. The rest of their group is not far away; the waiting room chairs are perhaps half a hallway from Myka’s bed. But Helena feels as if they are alone in the world.

Myka must feel it too, for she says, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Helena says the most positive thing she can: “I’m very very sorry.”

“It’s okay. I think I can say that for real now. I know you didn’t mean to hit me.”

“Of course not. I didn’t know you were there, and I moved with too much force because I was angry, and then this happened. I’m very sorry.”

“Why were you angry?” Myka asks.

“What?”  
  
“You said you moved with too much force because you were angry. Why were you angry? Were you mad at me?”

Helena curses herself for not paying attention to her words. “This is not the best time to talk about that.”

“So you were mad at me?”

“Not at you, precisely, but… at the larger situation. Let’s call it that.”

“What about the larger situation?” Myka is sitting up further now, looking seriously at Helena.

“I really don’t think this is the time or the place.”

“Helena, you were acting weird the whole time. Would you please tell me what’s wrong?”

Helena gives up. They have to do this, and they almost never do things at the right time, or in the right place. “I’m not happy.”

“About what?”

“Let me ask you this,” Helena tries. “Are _you_ happy?”

Myka says again, “About what?”

She has been hit in the head, Helena tries to remind herself. Hit in the head by me. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

Myka says, “I’m not doing anything on purpose. I have a head injury.”

“It’s not a serious head injury. The doctors said so.”

“Doctors can be wrong,” Myka says solemnly.

“Yes, well, so can you.”

“About what?”

This sets Helen to seething again. “Stop saying that!”

“Tell me what you’re talking about, and I will!”

“You promised me months ago that you would not pretend to be indifferent.”

“That’s true,” Myka says. “I did.”

“So if you really are indifferent, tell me now. If the past two weeks—or two months—truly have not bothered you at all, tell me now. Because what I’ve discovered, since January, is that seeing you every day at work for months gave me time to figure out that seeing you every day at work isn’t what I want.”

Myka looks down, looks up. “What do you want?”

“I want to see you every day at home,” Helena tells her. “I want Christina to see you every day at home. And if you don’t want that, then tell me now.”

“Right here in the hospital?”

“Now.”

“And if I say no, then that’s it?”

“If you say no, then that’s it.”

Myka raises her voice and shouts, “Pete! Get in here!” The effort makes her wince.

Pete rushes in. “Are you okay? You’re gonna be okay, right?”

“I’m fine,” she tells him. “Babe Ruth here tried her best to take me out, though, and maybe not without justification. So look, I need you to tell Helena where we went last week.”

“Where we went… you mean, where we went for those amazing black-bean wontons, right?” He looks like she’s asked him to tell her where the bodies are buried.

Myka sighs. “No, Pete, tell her for real.”

“But you said, ‘Pete, you reveal this on pain of death,’ and I _believed you_. How do I know you aren’t trying to trick me?”

“I am taking your death off the table, because otherwise it’s going to be mine,” Myka says. She gestures with her head at Helena; she winces again. “Tell her.”

Pete says, “But it was supposed to be a _surprise_.”

Myka closes her eyes. “If she breaks up with me right here, right now, there will be _no point_ to the surprise.”

Pete says, very quickly, “Jewelry store. _Swanky_ jewelry store.”

“In keeping with that,” Myka says to Helena, “I have four words for you.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Do you want to hear them?”

“I… think so.”

“I’d rather you were more certain, but I see that that’s pretty much my fault, because I keep getting this wrong. Pete, I need a hand up.” Pete hauls Myka up and off the bed, and she sways a little. “Okay, now I need a hand down.” He holds her under her arms as she gets down on one knee. “My god that hurts; I must’ve landed on my knee when I passed out.” She winces once again, but when she looks up at Helena, she smiles. “Okay, here goes, four words: Eagle Rock school system.”

Whatever four words Helena had imagined she might hear—and she had gone through various permutations of possible fours in her head—those had not been among them. “What?” she asks.

“I love you. I want to marry you, and live with you, and live with your kid, and if your brother’s there too that’s fine, but I really would rather not do that in Encino. The drive honestly might kill me. So if we could get a house in Eagle Rock, which has the most comparable overall school system I could find, not to mention a really good middle school that I think I can get Christina into next year—I’ve got a client who knows somebody—plus there are some really nice houses, at least as far as I could tell online, which of course you can’t really tell, but anyway, I think that would solve a lot of problems, because it’s only twenty minutes out.”

Helena stares at her.

Myka says, “It doesn’t have to be Eagle Rock. I mean if you say you really want to stay in Encino, I’ll move to Encino. I will, because this business where we can’t find time to see each other? Not acceptable. And not seeing you and Christina for two whole weeks has been _torture_. I’m not indifferent. I’ve just been trying to work this out, and the ring is back at my place, because I didn’t want it to have to travel, and I was going to take you back there after this stupid softball game, and Steve and Liam were going to take Christina home with them… I am never planning something like this without telling you, ever again. Because you never know when somebody’s going to hit you in the head with a bat, and Helena, you would never have known. You would have kept thinking that I didn’t care, and I care more than _anything_. Hit me in the head as many times as you want; it’s totally justified, because I’m going to mess this up, this same exact way, over and over. But at least let me do it as the person who’s stood up in front of the world and said how much I love you. That’s some accountability, right?”

“I think you do have a head injury,” Helena says. She leans down to Myka, leans down, sits down beside her, but moves so that she is across her, on her; she can’t get close enough; she will never be close enough.

“Really?” Myka asks. But she is smiling, starting to laugh; she is pulling Helena even closer. She is also starting to cry.

“Because you haven’t actually asked me anything yet.”

“What?”

“How can I tell you yes when you haven’t asked me anything yet?”

“Will you please marry me and buy a house in Eagle Rock with me and be patient if it seems like I’m being indifferent?”

“We’ll see about the real estate part,” Helena says, even though she knows that she would live in Eagle Rock or Little Rock or on the Rock of Gibraltar if it meant she could marry Myka. “But to the rest? Yes.” A thought occurs to her. “Christina!” she calls.

“Hey,” Christina says, once she pushes her way through the curtains. “Why are you guys on the floor?”

“Long story, Cnoop Dogg,” Pete says.

Helena says, “Darling, would you mind if Myka and I got married?”

“I kind of already thought you were going to,” Christina says. She calls, “Claudia! Didn’t you think they were gonna get married?”

“Since day one, Chrissy!” Claudia calls back.

“Don’t call me Chrissy!”

“In your dreams, Chrissy!”

Myka says, “I think everybody but us has known about it for a while now.”

Helena says, “I think that is the story of our lives.”

END


End file.
